Orsus Comitas
by Era Yachi
Summary: Sheppard and team explore a seemingly abandoned, living spaceship in the middle of nowhere. Little do they know they're about to make the strangest alliance in Atlantis history...An Atlantis and Farscape crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**_Orsus Comitas_**

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AN: I know I need to continue Rules of War, but my roommate did this to me. Also, I have little knowledge of Seasons 3 or 4 of Farscape, so using what I do have, this fic can obviously be considered an AU.

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_Chapter One_

_-_

"So, what exactly is it?"

Asked McKay for the umpteen millionth time.

"I _said_ I don't know, Rodney," Sheppard berated, half-consciously gripping the controls of the Puddlejumper as it loomed closer to the gargantuan alien ship. "Why don't you sit down and start running those scans again? Because I'm sure as hell not going to believe that this thing is reading as a life sign."

As if to spite him, the viewscreen in front of suddenly displayed a grid with a single flashing dot caught amidst its pale blue crosses. To be fair, it was a big dot and it was white instead of red. Even though the other sensors indicated it was composed of mostly organic material, the Ancient technology obviously didn't believe it was Wraith.

It was a small comfort, considering how it was somehow dragging them into its docking bay. McKay called it a tractor beam. Sheppard called him a geek, and that had been the end of it.

The alien ship was easily the size of Daedalus, if not bigger. For all exterior purposes, it was no more than a husk drifting aimlessly through the vacuum of space.

The colonel wasn't anxious, per se, because the Jumper did only recognize one life sign. Not only that, but also the ship itself—or the creature, maybe—didn't have any obvious weapons outside its hull (skin?). So if it wasn't Wraith, it wasn't occupied, and it wasn't armed, he was pretty sure it wasn't dangerous. He remembered learning something about whales on the Discovery channel. They were supposed to have a reasonably high level of intelligence for non-sentient animals, and for all he knew this could be the Pegasus Galaxy's version of a space whale trying to be friendly.

Yeah, space whales. With tractor beams and docking bays. He wouldn't put it past Pegasus to pull this out of its enormous, galactic a—

"Sheppard," said Ronon, sitting behind him. Sheppard snapped back to reality and realized that the Jumper had picked up speed and was starting to pass into the cavernous opening that served as a port. None of the controls would respond to him, so the most he could do was hope the inertial dampeners wouldn't fail them now. Landing was going to be rough.

They touched down with a jolt that sent the Jumper skidding across the floor. Feeling the ship's controls jump back to life, Sheppard focused rigidly on the forward thrusters, trying to slow it down enough to get it back under control. After a few seconds, they slid to a halt. The hangar echoed eerily around them.

A few moments passed before Sheppard turned and stood up. "Okay, last one to the beach is a rotten egg."

Teyla and Ronon regarded him strangely, but Rodney just snorted and followed him to the back of the Jumper. His PDA verified that there was atmosphere inside the larger ship, which made the need for Hazmat suits…well, not a need. This was good, seeing as they only had two suits and four people. Whoever planned this mission clearly had problems with mathematics.

"Judging by our tremendous success with dead, abandoned alien spaceships in the past, Colonel, I'm sure we can expect the Wraith to show up anytime soon," McKay was saying, countered by the sound of the rear hatch lowering itself outside.

"I'm sure we will, Rodney," said the colonel, stepping out into the breezy, somewhat smelly innards of the ship (whale?). "And that's why we're _here_, to find out if this thing is a threat. That includes keeping it from the Wraith."

"Which is the military equivalent of saying 'let's blow it up'," muttered the scientist, tromping down the newborn ramp and down to the floor.

"It probably won't come to that," said Sheppard unconvincingly. He was too distracted by the surrounding bay to say anything else. The floor was smooth, almost metallic and the ceiling had a strange, ribbed-like pattern for a structural design. It reminded him disturbingly of a Wraith Hive ship, right down to the mood lights and the creepy organic walls. Right now his mind was leaning a little more towards 'deadly Wraith trap' than 'friendly space whale'.

There was a sudden burst of movement and a pair of white glowing eyes appeared from underneath the bulkhead of a smaller, more compact module jut to their right. Sheppard raised his P90 towards the little creature. Another one appeared just under the wing. It was too dark to see much more than the shape of them, but they scuttled across the floor like a couple of giant beetles with lightbulbs attached to their eyestalks.

Ronon armed his weapon with a dull whine. Rodney crept backwards as the two rodent-sized druids moved towards them. They stopped a few meters away, their eyes wavering curiously.

"Uh, hi," Sheppard said awkwardly, not entirely sure what to make of their greeting party. "We're peaceful explorers from a planet called Earth. We just happened to be in the area and thought we'd drop by…y'know, greet the new neighbours. Swap a few recipes. Get to know each other."

One of the metal doodads turned on its mate, lowering its eyestalks and raising them again in a bizarre imitation of a shrug. The other one darted forward and nudged his boot. He stepped back. It bunted him again. Lifting its eyes to look at him for a moment, it then spun a full one hundred eighty degrees and scurried off towards the open hangar.

"Hey, wait—" said Sheppard. But they were moving too quickly to pay him any attention.

"I'm not entirely sure, but that either meant 'go away, we don't like you', or 'follow me'." Rodney squinted at him—at least, he thought Rodney squinted at him, since it was too dark to tell. "At least they don't seem all that aggressive. Should we follow them?"

As if on cue, a third one of the mechanical little creatures nudged the astrophysicist from behind. McKay stumbled forward, yelping in surprise. Sheppard grinned at him.

"They seem…adamant that we follow them," Teyla suggested. "And I do not sense any nearby Wraith."

"Doesn't mean there aren't any." Ronon reluctantly lowered his pistol and disarmed it. "I'm ready to find out."

The adjoining corridors were no better than the cavern behind them. Only the glow from the eyes of their "guide" and the lights on the team's P90s lit the gloomy atmosphere of the ship. More of the small creature-like droids appeared, each with its own separate agenda that didn't involve the newcomers. Their 'guide' stopped ever now and then to wait for them to catch up. Sheppard had a near irresistible urge to ask it to take them to its leader.

"Teyla, how are those spidey senses feeling?" he said quietly over his shoulder.

"I am still not detecting the presence of Wraith, however…" There was an edge of restlessness in her tone. "There is something…else. I feel…anticipation, distress; even confusion."

"What is that supposed to mean, 'you feel'?" said McKay.

"I…believe this ship may be trying to communicate with me."

Sheppard stopped to face the Athosian, wary. "But that would make it a _Wraith _ship, Teyla. Now unless you've got some other…weird alien DNA in there that might explain why a living _spaceship_ is giving you weird vibes, I'm turning this mission around and we're heading back to Atlantis."

Somewhat affronted by this, she stood straighter and spoke in a low, determined voice. Ahead of them, several pairs of glowing eyes floated, waiting. "There _are_ no Wraith here, of that I am certain," the Athosian said coolly. "My affiliation with this ship may only be the result of a similarity between its DNA and that of the Wraith. There is no other alien DNA…in _here_."

Her venomous reply made Sheppard flinch unconsciously. Sure, there were subtler ways to tell him he was being a jackass, but Teyla always chose the most direct route. There was no reason to not trust her instincts, but he couldn't shake the feeling there was something Wraith-like about this place. Not for the first time today, he wished he'd chosen the kid's planet over the one with the spooky deserted alien craft.

Three or more of the goggle-eyed droids crowded around their feet and urged them forward. Thinking back to Teyla's synopsis of her 'feelings', he kind of understood how these things were acting: nervous, impatient, and obviously willing to run them over if they didn't move. Like miniature Lassies, every one of them trying to tell them how Timmy fell down the well.

The dark corridor eventually opened up into a larger chamber. The beam of his light cut across the shapes of several pedestals, each set with several dimly glowing patterns. Here, the walls had their own luminescence—faint but noticeable. He could see the little beetle-bots clearer now, and they clearly saw him. They didn't stop there, however, but charged deeper into the ship.

After a few minutes of staring at the same, darkened walls and the odd droid scurrying past his feet, he found himself feeling hopelessly lost. A second thought entered his mind. Maybe it was best to turn back now while he still had somewhat of an idea on how to get back to the hangar.

They banked around a corner, where the supposed 'wall' on their left suddenly pivoted—opening a door that he hadn't spotted in the near darkness. Exchanging looks that were little more than bare glints in the dimness, the team stepped into the chamber beyond.

Sheppard abruptly tripped over a beetle-bot. Their little "guide" had chose to stop in the middle of the floor. Not caring that is had almost been squashed by the tall, two-legged human, the droid wound across the floor until it was several yards ahead of them, where it attached itself somehow to the base of a more vertical surface. In a flash, it vanished into the pitch darkness. Sadly, the team's surroundings did not provide enough colour in the cast of their flashlights to give an impression of this new room.

"What is this place?" said Ronon with intent.

Sheppard sighed inwardly. "That's a good question."

"There are more of the creatures," Teyla announced, looking down at their feet. Rodney yelped and backed away from the sudden group of beetle-bots crowding around the team. "I do not think they mean us harm. Perhaps they are only trying to convey a message."

"Well, we can all see how effective that is when we can't even see past our P90s," snapped McKay. There was the brief sound of rustling cloth and the scrape of Velcro. A dull snap, and suddenly their surroundings were bathed in the gentle, neon light of a glowstick.

"Whoa."

Whoever said it knew exactly what he was thinking. 'Whoa' didn't even put it into context. The team now stood in a large, practically hollow chamber. There was a bridge connecting their half of the room to a section in the middle—a shelf that protruded from a pit that extended far below their feet and around the chamber. And on this shelf sat a circular wall or a basin, combined by the reflective surfaces of several hundred different console types. In the very center of it was an alien—a very large, dead alien—that looked like it could wrestle a Puddlejumper and win.

Pegasus Galaxy had plenty of strange creatures to boast about, but this was a first for him. Sheppard and the remainder of his team drew forward down the bridge and towards the gargantuan cadaver. He eyed it skeptically. "Is anyone else thinking _Alien_ right now, or is it just me?"

Rodney was surprisingly the first to get over the shock of seeing a dead alien smack dab in the core of an abandoned, organic ship. Giving the setup a decent berth, the astrophysicist fingered another glowstick and snapped it, providing them with twice the illumination as before. Now they lingered just a couple of arm lengths away. Sheppard noticed Ronon eyeing the huge, claw-equipped arms attached limply to the lifeless body. A strong enough swipe and one of those could take snap someone's neck.

The broad face of the creature was tilted down, its bulbous set of eyes closed, shrouded under the wide, shell-like crown that covered its head. Sheppard was momentarily distracted by one of the yellow, goggle-eyed droids that crept along the surface of the wall and paused a safe distance away.

"This is incredible," McKay's voice lured his attention to the edge of the shelf. The scientist was using his flashlight to examine the pit that extended far below them. "This is…by far, the most incredible thing I've seen since…well, since ZedPMs." His tone was incredulous. "Just from what I can see, it looks like it's rooted directly into the ship's organic material. I mean, who knows what kind of power source this thing uses?"

"Yeah, Beckett's gonna have a field day," Sheppard agreed distantly. Something didn't feel quite right. "Don't touch anything, Rodney. The last thing we need is a giant alien…virus running around Atlantis. For all we know, it could be the reason this place is dead."

Snorting, McKay backed away from the edge—and almost toppled over one of the small beetle-bots as it whisked past his feet. To catch his balance, his hand shot out and grabbed the edge of the circular wall.

As if on cue, the enormous console lit itself up. A yellow droid responded to this by reaching out with a slender little arm and prodding the dead alien with a small electric jolt.

The "dead" alien twitched, its eyes snapping open immediately. It lifted its head groggily, making a bothered sound that sounded like a groan.

"What the—it's alive?" howled McKay, retreating so quickly that he fell on his back and slid across the floor.

In response, the creature slowly turned its head to gaze at them all, blinking sleepily. And then its mouth opened, and it uttered something that sounded like, "Moya…?"

"Don't," Sheppard ordered the Satedan quickly, knowing Ronon's first impulse. "We don't know what it wants. We're not here to hurt you," he said, addressing the drowsy creature.

It only regarded him with half-lidded eyes, obviously not understanding him. It spoke again, but this time the words were completely alien. When Sheppard didn't answer it, it repeated itself a little more passionately. Somehow, he got the impression that it didn't like him. It also seemed surprised that he didn't understand its words.

Suddenly, he felt a pinprick in his calf. He jerked his leg forward and twisted his body around to find one of the yellow droids looking up at him, one of its 'arms' attached to something that looked disturbingly like an injection tool. Sensing his angry reaction, it reversed and whizzed away.

Ronon armed his blaster, resonating a high-pitched whine. He aimed it at the alien's head, nanoseconds from pulling the trigger. All he needed was a signal.

Sheppard found the alien staring at him mistrustfully. "Who…are you?" it asked, in English. "Where are the others? What have you done to them?"

Eyeing the creature's arms warily, which were now slowly starting to move, the colonel replied. "I have no idea what you're talking about. We just arrived on this ship, and so far you're the only…uh, person we've found."

It was the alien's turn to eye him. He shifted uncomfortably under its scrutiny. "Who are you?" it said again.

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard of the United States Air Force," was the automatic response. "Dr. McKay, Teyla and Ronon," he went on, gesturing to his respective teammates. "And you are…?"

"I am Moya's Pilot," it said. "Moya tells me you arrived on one of her creator's ships. Is that what brought you here?"

"Colonel, what exactly are you doing?" Rodney butted in, stepping closer. "You actually…_understand_ what it's saying?"

John looked at him. "You can't?"

"I had a DRD inject translator microbes into your system," explained Pilot. "Others will be along shortly to give the same treatment to your friends."

"You said 'others'," Sheppard said, ignoring the indication that he'd just been inoculated with some strange alien micromachines. "There are others like you aboard this ship?"

"Like me? Of course not. There is only one Pilot to every Leviathan. The remaining crew is of a variety of species."

"Sheppard, tell us what it's saying," Ronon said lowly. "If it did something to you—"

John waved him off with a slight twitch of his hand. "We're human," he told the Pilot. "The Tau'ri. Like I said, we just got here, and so far everything we've encountered had been kinda new to us. If you're the ship's pilot, then where's the rest of the crew?"

"Ow!" Rodney's annoyed cry of pain interrupted the double-sided interrogation. Sheppard whipped his head toward him, to find the physicist kicking away one of the DRDs that had recently poked him with a needle. "It just stabbed me!"

"The microbes are harmless," Pilot explained patiently, large, orange eyes blinking at the scientist. "As for your question, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, I have no idea. I was hoping you would enlighten me. For some reason, I am unable to locate them."

There was a note of panic in the pilot's voice that just couldn't be insincere. Rodney was starting, gaping and being all that much more useless. The DRDs swirled around their feet aimlessly—and Sheppard was just starting to notice how most of them didn't have any direction, as though they were disoriented or confused by some unseen force.

"I'll tell you what," said Sheppard. "We'll help you find them. That's assuming they're still on board this ship…Moya, is it?"

Pilot tilted his head at him. "Why?" he asked with a suspicious tone.

"Because we're good people, and that's we do." He tried not to sound condescending, but the big, four-armed alien reminded him of a certain Asgard that didn't take kindly to him. Elizabeth would lecture his ear off if he didn't at least try to make allies out of these people—'people' being the tentative word, since he had no idea if these 'other' crewmembers even existed. "Tell us who to look for, and we'll see what we can do."

The alien gazed on, but wasn't entirely appeased.

"Hmm. I suppose have little choice but to agree with you, for now," he said flatly. Abruptly, he extended one of his clawed arms towards the colonel.

That did it. Without a sound of warning, Ronon fired a single, red burst of energy at the nearest column protruding from the Pilot's console. It was meant as a warning shot, but it had barely stopped sizzling before a pale blur streaked from the shadows and charged at the tall Satedan.

"D'argo, no!" cried Pilot.

The 'blur' turned out to be a young human boy, who tackled Ronon with a throaty growl. He clung to the specialist's arm, trying to wrestle his gun out of his hand—and losing. "Leave him alone, you big ugly frellwit! He wouldn't hurt a negnik! You're not taking Moya and Pilot away! I'll kill all of you! I'll _kill_ you!"

"Stop, D'Argo! Please!" Pilot panicked, waving two of his arms frantically.

Ronon forcibly separated the boy from his arm—only to have D'Argo attack his gut, sending surprisingly powerful, tight-fisted punches into the grown man's abdomen. Ronon grunted, and pried his assailant away, still grappling against his fragile limbs. But when he tried to pin the boy with a hooked arm, D'Argo bit down into his hand.

Ronon bellowed from the pain and released the boy. The eight-year-old dashed away from the towering Satedan and scrambled onto Pilot's console, taking cover under the safety of Pilot's claws. Pilot just sighed heavily, long ago having grown used to the boy's withdrawn, aggressive conduct. It was the Peacekeeper genetics that made him so violent. It was not D'Argo's fault.

"What the hell?" barked Ronon.

"He's human," said Sheppard, almost accusingly. "What is a human _kid_ doing on this ship?"

"He is only half human," Pilot corrected, lowering an arm to cover the boy protectively. "And if he is harmed in any way, I greatly doubt you will make it off of Moya alive."

"We have no intention of harming him," Teyla assured him, taking John by surprise. One of the little droids had given her the miracle language shot while he wasn't looking. "We only wish to help you."

"Liars," muttered D'Argo from under his shield.

"D'Argo, where are your parents?" said Pilot, craning his great head to look at the boy.

D'Argo curled into a tighter ball and didn't stop glaring at Ronon. "Sleeping," he said at last. "They just went to sleep, and didn't wake up. Just like you, and Rygel, and Gala. Even Moya's asleep. I thought you were never going to wake up!"

"That's absurd," said Moya's Pilot, taken aback. "My readings say we've been drifting for three solar days. That would mean we've all been unconscious since out last Starburst."

Sulking, the boy nodded firmly. "It's _them_," he accused, pointing at Sheppard's team. "They're going to bring the Plokavians here and take Moya away!"

"What?" Pilot turned his head sharply on the group. "What is this about?"

Struggling away from the pilot's arm, the boy leaned over the edge of the console to glare intently with his hands gripping the edge. "They're working with the Plokavians. They're going to capture Moya and sell her in the Blind Markets, and they're going to kill my mom and dad!"

It was right about this time that Sheppard got that sinking feeling in his stomach.

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**_Orsus Comitas_**

AN: I appreciate everyone's feedback. I have no idea how fair the AU-ness of this fic will extend. I guess we'll find out. From here on, there are obvious, major spoilers.

This chapter is slightly shorter. I needed to cut it off so I had something to write about tomorrow.

* * *

_Chapter Two_

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**Moya, Pilot's Den (1792 microts after contact)**

It was a standoff.

Neither side moved for a few seconds. The large alien clearly felt more inclined to believe the boy than it did a handful of complete strangers bearing unfamiliar weapons. Pilot suddenly went from passive and trusting, to short and unreceptive.

"Explain," he said sharply. "Or I will have every DRD in this chamber open fire." In the eight years he'd shared Moya with Crichton and his family, he'd learned to trust them above all other beings other than his Leviathan. And he wasn't going to let a few cleverly disguised Peacekeepers enslave his precious Moya again.

"If you open fire, we open fire," Sheppard warned him. "As much as I'd prefer not to. See, we're not the bad guys—we're the good guys. We heard your distress call while we were flying around a nearby planet, and we're here to help. Now, whoever these Plovakian folk are—"

"Plokavian," uttered the boy D'Argo—venomously.

"All right. Plokavian," said the colonel. "I'm sorry about what happened to your ship, but you've gotta believe me when I say we have _no_ idea what's going on. People like you…don't exactly show up around here all that often."

"You're lying," accused the boy, leaning over the console. "You're just saying that to make him trust you! You're going to hand us over to the Plokavian pirates. They're paying you!"

"What? How could you possibly even _assume_ that—" McKay started.

"Colonel Sheppard is telling the truth," Teyla tried to explain, cutting him off. "We are not here to—"

"What the _frell_ is going _on_ around here?"

The loud, somewhat disoriented bellow came from behind them. Immediately, Sheppard spun around and directed his P90 at the newcomer shadowed underneath the oval doorway—the male, _human_ newcomer with a mixture of sarcasm and anger twisting his expression.

The other guy had some sort of weapon drawn, something that looked like pistol with a short barrel. And he didn't look at all happy to see four armed strangers standing so close to the boy, D'Argo.

"Dad!" the boy exclaimed happily, ducking under Pilot's claw to rush forward. In a flash, he'd climbed over the console, buzzed past Sheppard's team and jumped on the man standing across the bridge. Grinning like a maniac, 'Dad' hefted his son into a quick squeeze before lowering him to the ground again. D'Argo turned around, smirking triumphantly. "You guys are in a lot of trouble! My Dad is going to kick your eemas!"

"Sounds painful," Sheppard commented under his breath to Ronon.

"Pilot, would it kill to get a little more light around here?" the boy's father snapped irritably, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like the victim of a bad hangover.

In response, the ship's pilot reached forward—Sheppard realizing awkwardly that this was exactly what he'd been trying to do before Ronon shot at him—and depressed one of the smaller controls. The immense cavern hummed to life. For the first time, they saw the innards of the Leviathan in technicolour.

"Who are you people?" Demanded the pistol-wielding man. He was still rubbing at his eyes groggily.

"We're explorers," Sheppard tried to explain, purposely leaving out the part about Atlantis…just in case. "We're also friends. My name is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. This is my team. We're from a place called Earth in another galaxy—

"Oh!" he armed man suddenly dropped his arms, and the gun to his side, hanging his head. And to their surprise, he started to chuckle insanely. "Of _course_, it's just another dream! You'd think, after eleven _stupid_ cycles, this would all end, but stupid John—Crichton—doesn't—know—when—

He was bashing the pistol against his own skull with every last one of those five words. And then, abruptly, he snapped again, bringing the weapon up to point at them. His face contorted with a sort of—twitch, of pain. "Ow, okay…that _hurt_. Pain means awake, and awake means real, and real means you, here, now. So in that case—_what the FRELL is going on?_"

Behind him, D'Argo snickered quietly.

------

**Moya, Hangar (3 solar days to contact)**

_Fear, fear, fear…_

There was a pronounced silence throughout the corridors before the first nullifier beam hit Moya. D'Argo dropped the DRD he'd been cleaning and stumbled up against the table, knocking over the small pile of deactivated droids. He struck his head against something hard, and saw stars for a moment. And suddenly the world righted itself again.

He'd been confined to the task of polishing the grime, muck, scuffs and other various bodily fluids from an assortment of DRDs when he refused to show up for dinner the solar day before. D'Argo didn't like food cubes, no matter how his mother prepared them. Sometimes he wished he could attach himself to Moya, like Pilot, and he'd never had to eat another dry, stale, gritty food cube again.

Everything happened faster than he could think. One moment, he was scrubbing a sticky green substance out of the crevice in a DRD's eyestalk, and the next he was on the floor on his backside. He heard Pilot trying to say something over his comm., but his head was ringing too loudly to understand. Moya went into Starburst, and the eight-year old boy slid across the floor and felt his back hit his father's module hard. He knew it would bruise.

_Pain. Fear. Stop, stop, stop…_

He never thought Moya could Starburst for so long. It seemed like forever. Finally, after what might have been a thousand microts, she stopped. Everything went still.

For a moment, he thought it might be over. He stood up, almost tumbling over an upside-down DRD.

Another shot struck the Leviathan. This time, the boy reacted on impulse. He scrambled wildly under the fierce rocking of the ship, climbing over the side of his dad's module and into the cockpit. Just like Dad had taught, he flicked the red-orange switch under the engine controls, closing the shield above him.

And there he curled up, resting his chin on his knees with his arms wrapped around himself. He waited. Moya swayed and shook, rolled and vibrated under a dozen or so more shots from the enemy. His stomach turned—he was scared, and worried and he didn't know what was happening. Mom and Dad and Gala and Pilot…and even Rygel. And Moya! Someone was hurrying Moya. Was it the Peacekeepers? Mom told him about them. But the Peacekeepers were far, far away.

_Plokavians_, said the voice in his ear.

D'Argo jumped, and almost banged his head again on the seat. No one was there. He was hearing things again. Mom hated it when he heard things. They'd ground him _forever_ if he told them about even half of the voices he heard…

The hangar stilled. The enemy stopped attacking. He waited three hundred full microts before he cautiously reached out and hit the switch to open the shield. Knees shaking, he climbed out of the module and onto the floor.

He breathed shallowly, shaking with fear as he took in his surroundings. The lights were dimmed. He could still see easily, but most of Moya's illumination had gone down. And it was eerily quiet.

_Here, here. Stopped firing. Waiting. Scared. Confused. Unsure. Pilot, Pilot, Pilot…_

And D'Argo learned through the voice that the Plokavians had come to capture Moya. They wanted to sell her for credits. They traded things. They were going to execute his parents. Pirates. Traders. He thanked the strange voice, but it didn't hear him, and he raced off towards his parent's quarters as fast as his legs would take him.

But they were asleep. At first, when he approached the bed and saw his mother, Aeryn Sun half-slumped over the edge of the bed he'd thought the Plokavians had killed her—but they weren't on board yet. Dad was on the floor a few feet away. Neither one responded to him, no matter how hard he tried to get them to wake up. He knew they were still alive—they were still breathing, but they wouldn't wake up.

"Pilot, Pilot! Are you there? Mom and Dad won't wake up! What's going on? Pilot?"

No one answered him. Even the voice was quiet. Did Pilot fall asleep, too?

Rygel was slumped unconscious in his chair, drooling a strange yellow liquid that he'd never seen before. When he went to check on Gala, he found her curled up in a ball in one of the storage crates—also asleep, her petite, feline features a mask of complete contentment. He saved Pilot for last, even though his dad had always told him to check on him first—but he was too scared. He didn't want to find out he was alone. He'd never been alone before—there was always someone around to talk to. He didn't want to be left with only the voice for company.

But eventually, even that faded away, sleepily like all the others. The DRDs shut down one by one. And it was only then he felt very, very alone.

Even the ship got cold. So cold he could see white puffs of vapour rise every time he exhaled—which fascinated him for a short while, but fascination was soon replaced with fear.

He did what only his eight-year-old mind could think of in order to survive. He rigged one of the food dispensers to dump its contents, wrapped as many food cubes as he could in his shirt, filled a small container with water and carried it them off to Pilot's den. Careful as to not spill his hoard, he crawled into the warmest and most familiar place he could find—just under Pilot's head and between his two front arms. And there he camped, terrified, certain that Moya would never wake up and he'd be stuck like this forever…

Until the strangers came.

Then the voice returned.

------

**Moya, Command Center (1 arn, 933 microts after contact)**

"I'm sorry, Crichton, but Moya has no idea what happened to her after the Starburst. There is...evidence of some fort of energy residue trapped in her skin on the outer hull." The broad face, with a somewhat slouched posture and a discoloured carapace wavered in the holographic image.

"Which means?" pressured Crichton, staring at the ship's Pilot on the clamshell.

"It could mean almost anything," Pilot supplied. "Hopefully, it will not be a permanent effect Moya. The shock from the surplus energy…has somehow overloaded our neural nexus, and I find it…increasingly difficult to stay connected to her."

Crichton swore profusely in a language his best pal D'Argo, the Luxan he'd named his son after, had taught him shortly before his death.

"Crighton."

Leaning over the console, John tediously lifted his head to glare at the clamsell. "Yes, Pilot?"

"Moya is…very tired. However, she also seems to be convinced that the four humans who came on board recently are somehow connected to her creators."

This perked his curiousity. "What, you mean the big, smoky, floating Buddha Zhaan told us about?"

"Hmm. That would be a…less than sufficient description of Moya's deity, but that is in fact, whom I refer to. Apparently, the vessel they landed in is…nearly identical in design to those the Creators used before they evolved into…beings of pure energy—the form which I am sure you are more than capable of imagining."

"This is…" John shook his head, wishing his splitting headache would live up to its name and split. "This just isn't happening. I call 'time out'. Pause the game. It's halftime, the show's in intermission, I'm out to lunch—this really _cannot_ be happening!"

His outburst was greeted with only silence on the pilot's behalf. D'Argo, sitting with his back against the wall, only stared into space as though listening to some distant symphony.

Realizing he was being a little crazier than was necessary, Crichton sighed and pushed away from the console, running his fingers through his hair. "Okay, for now…how are the others? How is Aeryn? Did she wake up? Has anyone else recovered other than you and me?"

"I cannot for certain. Many of the DRDs are still… non-functional, and my connection with Moya is deteriorating. I must devote every spare moment to…repairing the damage to our neural bond, Commander."

"And all this is just a fancy way of telling me to go check for myself?"

The image of Pilot shut off. He reluctantly took that as a 'yes'. Even after eight cycles, even after he'd raised his only son on board Moya, even after the dren they'd been through together, Pilot was still a mystery to him.

"Stay here, don't go anywhere," he told his son, pointing meaningfully at the eight-year-old reclining against the wall. "I'll be back right after I check on your mom. And—" he added, before D'Argo could protest. "You don't bug Pilot. Not even a little."

His son nodded dispassionately.

"Okay." And with that, John rushed off to his quarters to find his wife.

------

**Moya, Detention Cell 47** (**1 arn, 1022 microts after contact)**

There was a general sort of uneasiness between the members of Sheppard's team. This was sort of like sitting in a Wraith cell, only this time they weren't going to get out no matter how impressive Ronon's collection of kitchenware happened to be.

They didn't consent to being locked up, of course. It had just been a little hard to argue with John Crichton while surrounded by a horde of small yellow robots with their lasers drawn.

In any case, their 'peaceful' intent had somehow gotten lost in translation. That guy's kid was acting like some sort of mini-medium channeling the 'blame-anything-that-moves' spirit. Now, quite absurdly, they were stuck inside a cell inside a living ship millions of kilometers from the nearest Stargate, with no way of contacting Atlantis in the event these aliens turned hostile.

And there was always the matter of Mr. John Crichton's rather peculiar interest in Earth.

Sighing, Sheppard plucked the small, rubber ball that he kept with him at all times (for scenarios such as this one) from his pocket. Rodney eyed him grumpily, but he ignored the scientist as always.

Sheppard tossed the ball against the wall with a 'thunk' and caught it as it came flying back to his hand.

Toss. Thunk. Thunk. Catch. Toss. Thunk. Thunk. Catch.

Pause.

"Yeah, this really sucks."

* * *

TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

_**Orsus Comitas**_

AN: Some spoilers for Atlantis Season 3 here. Enter silly comment here.

* * *

_Chapter Three_

-

**Moya, Holding Cell 47 (16 arns, 322 microts after contact)**

The rest of the night, if you could call it that, went on without much of a disturbance. _Much_ being the debatably word. Some three hours or so after they fell asleep, Ronon woke them up in a fit of rage. He ended up kicking something heavy across the room, where it struck the wall and stopped moving.

A droid, or a DRD, to be exact. It added Ronon to the ranks of alien linguistics with its microbe injection.

Rodney sat hovering over the broken DRD the next 'morning', making comments under his breath about its frustratingly complex framework. Without tools, of course, he couldn't just reverse engineer it right there and then. It was also a bit big to just shove in your pocket to take home as a souvenir.

For some reason, the caused Sheppard to have a vivid image appear in his mind of McKay and Weir standing in the 'gate room together. Weir would ask, "Is that a DRD in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?" to which everyone would laugh and they'd all stand around a table and toast to their new alien friends.

_Probable _alien friends. Maybe. He didn't want to have to kill anyone, but if this didn't work out then he might not have a choice.

"So what's the plan?" said Ronon, after a prolonged silence.

Sheppard sighed. Usually, he'd turn to McKay for the insane escape plans for their prisoner situations in a completely foreign environment. But so far, the scientist had made it absolutely _clear_ that they couldn't possibly rely on his technical skills to escape from a cell made from metal and living tissue. Wraith technology was easy—because it was technology. This was…well, anatomy. Biology. He needed Carson for this department.

"There is no plan yet," he told the Satedan, leaning against the web-like 'bars' that imprisoned them. "Unless negotiating the terms of our surrender counts as a plan, which I'm guessing it doesn't, we're not going anywhere until we talk to Crichton again."

"Heh heh, _I_ can arrange that."

The voice came from outside. Teyla, who had been keeping still until now, stepped up to the bars in anticipation. Through the gaps, they watched as some kind of hovering craft floated down the hall towards them and stopped just in front of their cell. There was small, green, wrinkled creature sitting on top, squinting his globular eyes at Sheppard. He appeared to be evaluating him.

"My name is Rygel the Sixteenth, former Dominar of the Hynerian Empire, ruler of over six hundred billion people," the alien introduced himself in a clearly superior, gravelly voice. "And I can help you escape, if you'll help me in return."

Sheppard thought of himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he didn't like this Rygel already. Not that he didn't appreciate the little guy's offer, but he was getting the impression that it wasn't a very reliable one. Not to mention the fact that he was only two feet tall and closely resembled a frog. And his breath smelled horrible—kind of like Rodney's after three days of coffee-induced alertness.

"Well, your royal highness," he said smoothly. "It's very nice of you to offer, but I think we can handle ourselves just fine."

"Hmph," the alien grunted. "So you say now, but in just a few arns you'll think differently. If you and I work together, I can get you your weapons back. There's only a couple of other crew members aboard—you can easily overcome them and take over the ship."

Sheppard had no intention of doing such a thing. He kept his mouth shut and stared coldly at the 'former Dominar'. If they hadn't screwed things up already, trusting this wide-mouthed little conspirator would.

After a minute, Rygel the Sixteeth looked grimly satisfied. "Good," he huffed, changing in demeanor entirely. "You're smarter than you look, which is, to say, not very." Casually, his chair floated closer to the panel next to their cell.

"What are you doing?" said Ronon.

"What does it look like, you overgrown Belvarian rodent?" growled the Hynerian. "You passed the blotching test, and now I'm letting you out."

"Test? _What_ test?" snapped McKay, standing to the left of Sheppard's shoulder.

Rygel stabbed a gnarled finger at the last digit on the control panel. "_My_ test," he said. "I don't trust mammals. Your minds are too simple for my vastly superior intellect to comprehend."

The cell door slid open with a slight 'whoosh' and the fourth wall of their prison was suddenly gone. Now something felt awkward…

"And if Colonel Sheppard had accepted your proposal," Teyla said cautiously. "What would have happened?"

"Yotz if I know! You'd have to go through Pilot to get a hold of this Leviathan, and Crichton before that! We'd all rather die fighting for her than let her fall into _Plokavian_ hands."

"We're not Plokavian," Sheppard argued, annoyed that he had to yet _again_ point this out. "I don't even know what the hell that means!"

"Of course you're not Plokavian," said the Hynerian condescendingly. "You'd have to look like melted gorlack and smell worse than a pile of barkan dren. Hmm, now that I think about it, I do see why the boy mistook you for one!" He broke off chuckling at his own awful pun, turned his chair around and started to float away.

Sheppard took a moment to notice the half dozen DRDs surrounding the opening into the corridor outside. This was without a doubt meant to be their escort. It meant they were supposed to follow the little green alien, and John wasn't feeling too great about their destination. Knowing next to nothing about these people, even a polite invitation could mean a short walk to their execution.

"Well, at least we know one thing for sure," he muttered, stepping forward.

McKay rolled his eyes at him, keeping a pace or two behind them as they fell in behind the ex-Dominar's floating chair. "Oh, and what exactly is that, Colonel?"

"They're not Wraith."

"Hmmm, observant as always, aren't we?"

"That's a good thing, Rodney."

"Yeah…until they shove us out an airlock, or worse! I can think of a _hundred_ things this ship might be capable of that could kill us in a split second or less!"

"Great! Why don't you share them with us, Rodney? It'll put everyone in a better mood!"

"Perhaps it is best you save this discussion for another time," Teyla interrupted over the hum of the DRDs that trailed behind.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence—John mad at Rodney and vice versa, and Teyla clearly annoyed with them both for behaving like children in the midst of a crisis. Ronon walked like a statue…a walking statue. Not the kind that just stood there and posed.

Sheppard hoped the look on his face didn't mean he was going to try and overpower Rygel. That wouldn't be good for points in the 'Let's Make an Alliance' show.

* * *

**Moya, Command Center (16 arns, 1020 microts after contact)**

There were two people standing at their destination—a large room that Sheppard indistinctly remembered from their first survey of the ship. This must be their control center, or 'bridge' or whatever strange alien word they had for it. One the far wall, a large window (screen?) displayed a vast field of stars and the ghostlike shape of the dull gray planet several hundred thousand miles away.

One of the room's occupants was Commander John Crichton. The other was a tall, relatively attractive-looking woman with long, black hair. She glanced up at them guardedly as the team entered the chamber behind Rygel. D'Argo was seated on the edge of one of the consoles, swinging his legs in time to a strange tune he was humming. When he saw them, he abruptly went quiet.

"The 'Kavian lovers are here," he stated rudely.

"D'Argo," warned the woman with a stroke of patience. "I want you to go back to the hangar and finished polishing those DRDs for me, all right? You're still very much grounded, young man."

Reproachfully, the boy hopped down to the floor. With one last glare that could have melted a space glacier, he turned his back on the Atlanteans and fled out of the room.

"I seriously don't know where he gets that behaviour from," the black-haired woman said after he'd gone, turning a pair of dark cerulean eyes on Sheppard. She crossed her arms. "Now will one of you kindly explain to me why my son thinks you attempted to kill our Pilot?"

The colonel felt the guilt tap him on the shoulder. That had been Ronon's doing, but Ronon was his responsibility. As the team leader, he was the one accountable. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "Everyone's a bit…freaked about all this. We didn't know what to expect, so pretty much everything that's happened so far was just self-defense."

"Is that right?" Her expression didn't change. Neither did her derision. "So what you're trying to tell me is that he…_attacked_ you first?"

"Honey, it's not nice to patronize," said John Crichton. He stood up straight in one abrupt movement and faced them. "They are, after all, fellow Earthlings. We come in peace, take me to your leader, blah blah blah…" He clapped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together. "So, who wants to start first?"

McKay gave him that arrogant, smug glare with half-lidded eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, come on! I've _been_ through your stuff. And I gotta say, they weren't selllin' a whole lot of PowerBars at the last commerce planet, so start yappin'."

"_How_ do you know about Earth?" snapped Rodney. "In fact, _why_ are we the ones that have to explain ourselves? We're not the ones toting around someone who looks like the ungodly lovechild of Kermit the Frog and Yoda, not to mention the gigantic crustacean you've got plugged into that giant pit of terror."

"Why you ungrateful, son of a—little—" Rygel growled.

"Rygel, down," Crichton interrupted. Suddenly, he reached down to his holster and whipped out the pistol weapon he'd been wielding earlier. He pointed it at McKay. "I've done some guesstimating in my time aboard this ship and I'd say Moya's about thirty or forty thousand cubic feet, give or take a dench. You could crawl around on your hands and knees, searching for the place where I put your weapons, but you'd never find it. Think of it as an equation of probability—the number of arns you spend searching one quadrant multiplied by a variable relationship between surface area and volume. That's a lot of Moya."

"All right, we get it. You have us at a disadvantage," Sheppard argued, not happy with the fact this guy was threatening his team member. "Just put the damn gun away. What do you want us to say? Yeah, we're from Earth. We're part of the Stargate program; it's a facility under Cheyenne Mountain. Right now we're on an expedition in a city called Atlantis, which just happens to be located in this galaxy, the Pegasus Galaxy. Does this answer your question?"

"Wait a minute," Rodney said quietly, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. An awestruck look of realization washed over him. "You're John Crichton. _The _Commander John Crichton who originally founded IASA _Farscape _project!"

Sheppard turned on him with an incredulous glare. "What?"

Rodney's face lit up like a Lite Brite. "I-i-it's the International Aeronautics and…"

"…Space Association," Crichton finished with him. "So you've heard of me. Good for you."

"But you're supposed to be dead," the physicist complained defensively. "Your test module was ripped apart just outside of Earth's orbit."

"Long story, short version: wormhole. Got lost, fought a war, got married, had a son. Retired. Living well now. You know, it was _almost_ a happy ending until you guys arrived. Now I'm just a…a _little_ curious to find out why it's such a coincidence you guys show up _right_ after we're attacked by a Plokavian war ship, sent hurtling a distance through hyperspace that's not _possible_ into another _galaxy_, thus exhausting both Moya and Pilot, leaving us stranded in the middle of a no-go zone without a clue how to find _Hezmana_ from here!"

The ferocity in which we was dressing them down matched the gaze of the woman as she stared relentlessly. Sheppard found himself at a loss for words. How could he explain something he couldn't explain?

To some small fortune, he didn't have to. A holographic viewscreen of some kind popped up behind the commander, displaying once more the fact of the ship's pilot—looking somewhat healthier now.

"Commander, there is…another ship approaching Moya," he announced, sounding a cross between perplexed and nervous. "It's fast," he added with evident surprise.

"You've got to be frelling me!" barked Crichton, spinning on the clamshell viewer while the Lantean team continued to watch, stunned. "Wind kind of ship? Is it the Plokavians? Can we Starburst yet?"

"I am trying to determine that," Pilot shot back defensively. "Starburst is out of the question. As for the ship, it's a small transport vessel. And it's…not Plokavian. I don't know what it is."

"Care to wager a guess?" roared the commander.

Pilot grimaced at his console, keeping his well-developed temper at bay. "_No_, Commander. Wait…the ship is accelerating—it's arming its weapons! _Crichton_!"

* * *

**Moya, Hangar (16 arns, 1184 microts after contact)**

D'Argo stormed down the hall, ignoring the trail of DRDs that chased after him, creating a symphony of squawks and sputters as they tried futilely to calm him down. He also ignored the pile of inactive DRDs on the bench in the open hangar. He was tired to doing chores, he was tired of being punished unfairly, and he was tired of his parents not believe him about anything! Someone wanted to hurt Moya, to take her away, but all they could think about was these stupid Sebacean people and their stupid cargo!

He thought of talking to Pilot, but he knew from experience that Pilot always listened to his Dad about everything. And Mom. Uncle Rygel never took him seriously, so that left him only one ally left on the entire Leviathan. Gala.

Gala was an Alwek, a race that resembled an animal his dad had told him about called a 'cat', and they were hardly a third the size of his parents—docile and curious, like children. Even though she was a fully-grown woman of her kind, she was like him in a lot of ways. On top of it all, she was utterly incapable of seeing fault in anyone. Her kind had a hard time believing in or grasping the concept of 'wrong', which usually got her into a lot of trouble.

He found her sprawled on top of the module, basking in some invisible light above.

"Hello, Gala," he greeted somberly, kicking lazily at an empty canister on the ground.

"Oh!" she squeaked, jumping around with remarkable reflexes. She leaned over the edge of a crate and blinked at him. "D'Arrrrgo?" she purred. "Didn't'choo go with yourrrr parrrents to the command centerrr?"

"I'm still grounded," he reminded her unhappily. He sat down on an upturned box and looked miserably. "They don't believe me about those Sebacean people. They think I'm making it up."

"Oh," she said again, thinking. "Arrrre you?"

"No! I'm not! I really do hear someone! When the Plokavians were attacking, it told me they were going to come and take Moya away!"

"And 'dis would be wrrrong?" she asked him, lounging again. "Arrre the Pl'kavians the bad guys now?"

"I…I don't know." He felt a little surprise. He really didn't know if Plokavians were bad—he just knew that they wanted Moya. Maybe he'd heard the voice wrong? Why would it lie to him? Was it confused?

He wanted to ask it a thousand questions, but it never really did respond to him at all. It just randomly told him things, or rather…he heard them, like they were part of someone else's conversation, and he was just listening in. Right now, it wasn't saying anything. But he felt extremely scared. Something was coming, and it would hurt them, and he _knew _it had something to do with those strange Sebacean people!

Suddenly, he realized what he should do. The stranger's ship! He could find out what they were really up to by sneaking into their ship! Maybe he'd find proof that they were lying—that they wre really in league with the bad people coming to hurt Moya!

Renewed by this sudden revelation, he leapt to his feet and ran towards the section of the hangar that housed the Sebacean ship. "Thanks, Gala!" he cried over his shoulder.

"Surrrre," she sighed. "Come back an' play wit' me soon, o-kay?"

D'Argo felt his chest swell with excitement. He'd finally be able to prove that he was right…at least once! He put on an extra burst of speed and went hunting for clues.

* * *

**Moya, Command Center (16 arns, 1393 microts after contact)**

"_Move_!" shouted both Crichton and Sheppard at the same time.

Before anyone could react to that, the Leviathan shook heavily under impact of an outside shot. Everyone was thrown off balance momentarily—with the exception of Rygel. Pilot's image cut out for a moment and then reappeared.

"Moya's…been hit," he announced forcefully, obviously feeling some of her pain himself. "The attack vessel has…slowed. I'm receiving a message."

"Let's hear it," said Crichton without thinking. "I mean…patch it through."

A moment later, a very tantalizing, contemptuous voice slithered into the chamber that Sheppard recognized almost immediately.

"_Strange alien vessel_," it hissed. "_We are well aware you are not equipped with weapons and are powerless against our strength. We demand that you surrender and permit my brethren to board. We do not intend to cause you any grief_."

"Oh, you have to be kidding me," groaned Sheppard. "Yeah, nice try, Wraith!" he shouted, a bit louder. He scanned the ceiling, as if determined to find some trace of the hideous blue-gray face inside the ship. "We're sort of keen on staying alive for the time being. I'm sure our new buddies would rather any alternative over getting the life sucked out of them by you."

There was a moment of shock for everybody. On their end, Crichton and the woman—Aeryn Sun, he remembered suddenly, having heard the name spoke between the commander and the pilot—glowered at him, though somehow realizing that he was better qualified with dealing with this new threat than they were. Crichton, however, did look like he was on the verge of exploding.

"_Colonel Sheppard_," the Wraith finally said, with a smooth tone that was clearly amused. "_This is rather unexpected, meeting you here. You should know how well your reputation precedes you."_

"Glad to know I'm admired among you folk," the colonel grated. "Look, we're kind of busy here right now. Why don't you just turn around and go back to where you came from? You're wasting your time if you think your half-assed bluff is going to work."

"_Oh, but I think it is,_" it replied. "_Grant us a safe landing in your ship now, or I will have no choice but to rip it apart. It's your choice, Colonel."_

"No, that's Moya's choice," Crichton interrupted harshly. "So whatever it is you think you're doing, it's in her metaphorical hands. Pilot?"

"Moya is terrified," Pilot informed them, upset. "She is strongly considering letting them board."

"Well, don't!" Sheppard replied. "That is seriously that _last_ thing you want to do, Moya! I don't know if you can hear me, but you can't go trusting a Wraith, no matter _what_ he says!"

"_Sheppard, your words are chosen rather peculiarly, especially considering how you yourself did exactly that…at one time."_

The sound of the Wraith's voice had change, and there was a more familiar husk to it. The colonel's entire body went rigid with realization.

"No," he refuted. "No, it can't be…"

"_Yes,_" hissed the Genii's former prisoner. "_Unfortunately for you, I still remember our agreement from the last time we met." _A thoughtful pause. "_I believe all bets are…off."_

* * *

AN: Methinks this will be a rather long story. 


	4. Chapter 4

**_Orsus Comitas_**

AN: I'm surprise how many people are fans of Stargate and Farscape both. Props to you guys, and I'm hoping this fic might interest those who don't know Farscape to try it out. It's a great show. Again, I'm very grateful for everyone's feedback.

* * *

_Chapter Four_

-

**Moya, Command Center (16 arns, 2629 microts after contact)**

There was no having Moya to listen to reason—or what they assumed to be reason. She wasn't going to escape anytime, not when she was crippled by the extended Starburst. The Wraith transport drifted closer, overshadowing the Leviathan like a plague.

"Pilot, is there any way you can convince Moya to wait a little longer?" Crichton directed to the clamshell.

"I'm afraid the choice is no longer hers to make, Crichton," came the regretful reply. "The Wraith commander and his envoy have already departed the larger vessel and are heading this way."

"Wait a second, this ship doesn't have any _weapons_?" Sheppard half shouted, having been told by the green Hynerian that they were virtually defenseless against any Wraith assault. "What the hell do you do when you're attacked by someone who _has_ weapons?"

"Run, usually," Rygel said dourly. "Which is fine by me. If only Pilot would stop frelling around, and start repairing the Starburst drive—"

"Shut up, Rygel!" both Aeryn and Crichton snapped simultaneously. The Hynerian made a perturbed 'hmph' and floated to one side.

"Hangar doors are opening!" Pilot announced.

"No! Pilot, stop! D'Argo is still in there!" Aeryn cried frantically.

For a moment, they received no response from the den. Her heart just might have sunk a million metras in her chest as the agonizing moment passed. And then—

"I am…sorry, Officer Sun," Pilot said with a great deal of pain. "Moya…could not wait. Decompression has already taken place."

While the denial struck hard, she felt an enraged scream swell in her throat, where it caught and did not release. It couldn't possibly be. Moya did not just kill her—and John's—only son, their child whom the Leviathan cared for like a nephew or a grandson. There was some sort of mistake…there had to be another explanation. Pilot could be wrong, or their son might be somewhere else. You don't just…raise a child for eight cycles, and then have him _gone—_

"_Mom? Dad? Pilot, can anyone hear me?_" 

For one of the few times in her life, Aeryn Sun felt like she would collapse from an emotional heart attack. The sound of D'Argo's voice over the comms brought an ecstatic grin to her face. Her husband leaned over the console, looking like he would either lose his mind, or pass out. Even the members of Sheppard's team looked relieved to some extent.

"D'argo! D'Argo, where are you?" Aeryn demanded, much like an infuriated mother recovering from a near stroke over the loss of her son.

"_I'm sorry, Mom, I just wanted to prove I wasn't lying! I swear!"_

"D'Argo, tell us where you are. Whatever you're doing, it doesn't matter right now. This is important." Crichton glanced tersely at the human strangers.

"_I…I'm on the Sebacean ship," _the boy replied nervously. "_It…it just started doing things on its own. I want it to stop, but I-I don't know what to do. I don't want to end up in space!"_

Sheppard was well aware of McKay's gaping, bewildered reaction to this. This was a little much to take in. This _kid_ had the ATA gene? Hell, they weren't even from the same galaxy! How the hell did an alien kid end up with the Ancient—gene—activation…

His mind drew its conclusion. John Crichton—right, the IASA guy, from Earth. It made sense that even if Crichton himself didn't have the gene, his kid would. Genetics did that sometimes. Or so he'd heard.

"Listen, D'argo," he said, emulating the boy's parents by speaking towards the octagonal badge in Crichton's hand. "Our ship does whatever you ask it to in your mind. Right now, what you want it to do is go invisible—just think about that, like a blanket, and you should see a screen with a green indicator on it."

A second later. _"Y-Yeah…I think I see it."_

"Good, that means it's working. Whatever you do, don't make any noise and stay inside the jumper, understand?" Feeling some of his stripped authority slowly returning, the colonel turned to the parents. "So long as they don't run into him on landing, he'll be fine. Listen, these creatures you're about to meet probably aren't like the kind you've met before. You can't trust, negotiate, or agree with Wraith—the only thing they want is to suck the life out of you and your whole planet."

"What the frell is that supposed to mean?" snapped Aeryn, challengingly.

"They eat _people_," McKay cut in with an unpleasant grimace. He wiggled his fingers as if to demonstrate. "Using their hands. They drain every last ounce of life from your body until you're nothing but a shriveled little corpse."

"And that's _after_ they use their telepathic knack of interrogation, pretty much forcing you to say things the usual kind of torture wouldn't," Sheppard added.

"Yes, hmm. The…_usual…_ kind," Rodney said smugly, giving the colonel a look he obviously assumed was superior.

Before anyone had a chance to respond to that, Pilot's image came up on the clamshell. "Commander, a smaller Wraith vessel has landed in the hangar bay. They have not noticed D'Argo or the Builder's ship."

"How many are there?" asked Sheppard.

Pilot turned his carapace to regard him coolly. "There are six," he said without ceremony. "Although I must point out how the craft is barely designed to fit _one_."

Somehow, Crichton got the underlying suggestion in that statement and turned his full attention on the colonel, slamming his palm against he panel and storming right up to him. Before he could get much closer, Ronon stepped forward so that he was partially between the driven commander and Sheppard. This powerful message was enough to stop Crichton in his tracks, but it wasn't near enough to stop him from yelling out.

"What the _hell_ does that mean, huh, Lt. _Colonel_? One ship, six crew. That math's a little wrong, don't you think?"

His own temper aside, Sheppard found himself glaring straight back into Crichton's eyes with a great deal of challenge. "McKay?" he grated.

"What? What do you want _me_ to say?" whined the scientist, exasperated. He threw his hands in the air. "Take a look around, Colonel! I honestly doubt they're going to believe that a race of life-sucking aliens has the ability to scoop people up in their _flashy_ beam rays into their noisy little darts to be carried away to some unimaginable fate!"

Crichton had that stone-faced, shifty-eyed look that usually happened when he couldn't decide whether to take something seriously, or continue being angry. He chose to do neither, and said, "Do they?"

Rodney mellowed. His metaphorical hackles went down. "Oh. Well…yes, they do."

"Fine." Crichton backed off, waving his hands a little manically. "Everybody grab something that shoots something. Preferably something _dangerous_, if at all possible."

"Hold on a second, Rambo," Sheppard stopped him. "Pilot, can you tell how many of them have masks?"

The question was obviously a surprise to Moya's pilot. "Four of them are wearing masks…and are considerably larger than the others. The smaller ones appear to be the ones in charge, and they are—" He broke off, before continuing with an edge of reproach. "They _have_ destroyed all of the DRDs currently active on tier four. Somehow they're aware of the their surveillance capabilities."

"They don't want us to know when they're gonna show up. As you can guess, they make pretty lousy house guests," Sheppard mentioned. He was getting a bad feeling about this—on top of the bad feeling he was _already_ experiencing about these people. For one, the Wraith were supposed to be predictable. For another, why they hell would Wraith be interested in this ship, rather than the planet not ten minute's flight from here? Why settle for a fistful of sardines, when there was a whole ocean just a click away? Not that he wanted the natives on the planet to get culled, but the Wraith's intentions were…pretty impulsive.

"How could they?" Aeryn wondered out loud, bringing him back to the 'here and now'. "They weren't doing a frelling thing to provoke them. And what if D'Argo had been outside the ship when they landed?"

"They probably wouldn't have shot him," said Sheppard.

She scowled at him. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah," he said with a bond of both condescension and gravity. "They would have done a lot worse."

A heavy silence fell, where the members of both teams took a moment to survey each other.

"Shall I…have the DRDs open fire?" asked Pilot, breaking the mood. It wasn't a very like him to suggest such a thing, but he had more than enough cycles to understand Moya's crew to the point where he could envisage their responses.

"No, Pilot," Crichton refused, glancing back at the clamshell. "You'll just end up losing more DRDs, and that can't be good for Moya. Besides, you need as many as you can get fixing that Starburst drive."

"You can't let them reach this spot," Sheppard advised. "I'll assume that 'special' place where you did all our weapons isn't somewhere we can get to right now."

"Oh, so we're all blaming the over-zealous protector of the Leviathan, not to mention loving _father_ for being careful, are we?" Crichton snapped back. He shook a finger. "Ah, ah! Don't answer that. Pilot, can you seal off the command center before these fun-loving freaks dig their claws, or palms, or…whatever, into us?"

"I…I can't," Pilot replied, tentatively. "Fortunately, it…won't be necessary."

"What?" growled Crichton. "What's that supposed to mean? Pilot?"

No answer.

Aeryn folded her arms anxiously. "Pilot, speak to us. What's wrong?"

"The…Wraith are not moving in your direction, Crichton," came the shocked reply. "They are headed straight for…my den."

And just like so many times before, Sheppard felt that 'bad feeling' pop in his stomach like cherry bomb. Oh, the Wraith were doing exactly what any Wraith would do—they weren't being cunning, he was just completely blind. Was that even possible? He didn't even think Wraith could even feed on something other than human beings, but this made that point seem wrongly overlooked. "This…can't be good," he said, rather stupidly.

"Point of interest!" exclaimed Crichton loudly, raising a single finger. "These Wraith _feed _on life energy, right?"

"Pretty much," said the colonel in his least threatening 'yeah-we're-screwed' voice.

"Oh my God," Rodney half-choked, going a bit paler than usual. "This ship. That's what they want, it's…it's the all-you-can-eat buffet for a Wraith!"

Crichton moaned and placed his hands over his face, moments before he dropped his arms, grabbed his gun, loaded it and ran for the leftmost corridor. "Pilot!" he roared. "Get that door closed, now! And put as many DRDs in front of you as you can!"

"_I _a_m…trying, Crichton,"_ said a very flustered Pilot over the comm. _"Most of Moya's functions are still completely inoperable, including the mechanism for locking this door!"_

"Then have the DRDs _weld_ it shut! Just think of a way, and do it already!"

"_There is no other way! My connection to Moya is as unstable now as it was several arns ago!"_

At this point, even the formal inconsistencies between Crichton's and Sheppard's parties were null. Aeryn cared less about what threat they posed _now_ as opposed to before, taking both her guns to hand and rushing after her husband. The colonel's team and Rygel were the only ones left behind.

"Well, don't look at me!" the Hynerian snapped irritably. "I'm no more fit for battle than a mother negnik! _You_ do something about it!"

"We plan to," Teyla responded evenly.

"Where are our weapons?" said Ronon, not so 'evenly'.

Rygel went stiff in his chair. "How should _I_ know? I was unconscious when that happened! If I were you, I'd go for the pulse rifles hidden in that floor compartment just over there." The Hynerian chuckled impishly, floating towards the corridor that led to the hanger. "You didn't hear it from me!"

Ronon was already pulling open said compartment and distributing the weapons stored there. John couldn't stop thinking it was all too convenient how these people handled themselves in the face of a threat—almost as if they expected it all the time. But then, he didn't know a damn thing about this place, except that a rather strange assortment of individuals lived in it and treated it like one of their own. If Weir were here, she'd probably be the first to respect that.

Besides, he really didn't want the Wraith getting their grip on something that was not only apparently capable of intergalactic travel, but a means to feed themselves along the way. And to spread it all out, he felt like it was necessary to confront the old 'miracle' Wraith again. Only this time, he wasn't going to let it escape alive, 'brother' or no 'brother'.

* * *

**Moya, Hangar (16 arns, 2884 microts after contact)**

D'Argo watched the aliens pass by the Sebacean ship, ignoring it completely. He couldn't help his fear when he saw them—they reminded him of ghosts, with sickly pale green skin and teeth the colour of bat dren. If _these_ were the creatures the voice had been telling him about, and he might possibly be wrong about the Sebaceans before…

He'd never believe that! The voice was wrong, he was sure of it. All the strangers wanted was to take away his home, and hurt everybody. He had to do something to stop them before they did anything. He had to follow the strange creatures—_they'd _prove the others were bad people.

He gave the interior of their ship one last, hard look before scrambling to the back of the 'jumper'. The hatch opened after he struck the mechanism off to one side—it hadn't taken him long to find it—and he was down on the hangar floor again in a shake of a gordep's wing. He would track the six creatures down Moya's tiers, until they met up with Sheppard and his bunch. Then he'd turn on his comm and _prove_ to everyone that they were up to something bad.

_Wanting. Hungry. Coming. Wraith…want…Moya. Eating us! Eat Moya, eat Pilot, Pilot, Pilot…protect Moya!_

D'Argo froze in place. Wraith? _Wraith?_ he thought to the voice, as if asking it to confirm. Will they really hurt Moya? But…only because Sheppard told them to! He _knew_ they were going to hurt Moya! His parents might be trying to stop them, but…no he couldn't talk to them. His comm was still in the command center, and the communications system of the Sebacean ship wouldn't help him now. He had to get to Pilot's den before Sheppard did, before the Wraith did, and warn him! The eight-year-old, invigorated by this, mad-dashed down the corridor to tier four faster than a bat out of Hezmana.

He'd only reached the junction that led to the second tier, when he was thrown off his feet by a brain-squashing force from behind. He was raised into the air by the collar of his shirt, flailing against his unseen assailant. Slowly, he was rotated around to face it.

The Wraith's ugly yellow eyes pierced the fragile barrier of his courage. D'Argo whimpered softly as the creature bared its teeth in a satisfied grin. Its breath washed over him like a warm, poisonous breeze.

"Sleep," it hissed slowly.

The last thing he heard before drifting into the dark void, was the voice in his head whispering urgently…

_D'Argo, D'Argo, D'Argo…_

* * *

TBC 


	5. Chapter 5

_**Orsus Comitas**_

AN: Sigh. I should clone myself so I can write more fanfiction, more steadily…

* * *

_Chapter Five_

_- _

**Moya, Tier Three (16 arns, 3391 microts after contact)**

Crichton knew for sure that they were screwed. Oh, ho, ho…were they _ever_ screwed. The Wraith intruders had a decent head start on them to Pilot's den. Aside from that, they somehow seemed to know the most direct route from the hangar to the den. He really didn't like that.

"Pilot, talk to me!" he called into the comm badge as he ran.

"_I am here, Commander. The DRDs have managed to temp—_"

The transmission cut off. John didn't break stride, but tapped at the badge on his chest a few times angrily. "Pilot!" he growled. No response. "What happened?"

"They must have brought a jamming device of some kind," Aeryn supplied with an edge of vehemence. Together, they flew down Moya's corridors, avoiding the scattered DRDs as they scuttled to and fro in confusion. "And it feels like they know what they're doing," she added darkly.

"Yeah, funny how it always works that way," he shot back. And then, "Aw, damn it! Wrong way! Wrong, wrong, wrong!"

The corridor in front of them was completely and utterly sealed shut. A few stray DRDs were futilely bumping into the door over and over, as though their infinitesimal combined strength might force it open. There was _definitely_ something wrong with Moya when her little yellow drones started going kamikaze on Moya's doors. This was so helping Crichton feel any better about the situation.

"We can still get in from overhead," said his wife briskly, turning a sharp left towards another tier.

Baffled as to what else they could do, John began to follow her. He was stopped cold in his tracks by the callous voice of the invading Wraith commander as it came through over Pilot's comm.

"_Commander John Crichton,_" it hissed gently. "_As you are currently racing towards your death, I feel inclined to entertain you with this fact: I am now in possession of your offspring."_

Everything froze. Crichton's world moved like molasses, slowing down to the point where he couldn't move. He was dimly aware that Aeryn had come to a dead standstill beside him. Her arms slid to her sides, fingers going slack. The pulse rifle she'd been carrying clattered to the floor.

"_In exchange for the safe return of the boy, you and your female counterpart will peacefully surrender the living ship and abandon this futile struggle."_

Half of him screamed "_Like HELL I will!" _Another, much stronger and more painful part of him agreed to the Wraith's conditions without hesitation. A glance towards Aeryn told him that she was suffering the same dilemma. There was no doubt the Wraith was true to his claim. It hadn't even known D'Argo existed when they arrived on Moya. He wasn't willing to risk the chance it was bluffing, anyway. Not with his son's life.

"John," Aeryn said quietly, looking at him with the first helpless look he'd seen on her face since…damn, it had been a long time. "They have D'Argo."

"I know," he said hoarsely, grabbing his head in frustration, his pulse pistol raking across his skull. "I know, I know, I _know_, Aeryn! But they want Moya. We _can't_ give them Moya!"

"They have our _son_!" she shot back. Real tears were forming in her eyes. "I am _not_ letting them hurt D'Argo!"

"_Your concern with the ship's well-being is admirable," _the Wraith informed them without a trace of sincerity. "_But you see, whether or not you choose to accept my offer, your ship and its symbiote will eventually die. Perhaps…I can assist you in making your decision easier."_

Crichton almost opened his mouth to shout back an insult, but his words and his balance were thrown to the great metaphorical wind when Moya suddenly went nuts.

He was sent crashing into the side of the corridor at the mercy of inertia, staggering to the ground, rolling onto his back and trying to find something to hold onto all at once. Aeryn seized his arm and together, they managed to steady their feet and somehow remained upright as their Leviathan trembled mercilessly. Moya swayed and pitched to and fro in a silent dance of anguish.

When it ended, the lights in Tier Four faded. Crichton stood splayed-legged and gingerly let go of his wife's hand. They shared a look of flushed anger and panic.

"What the frell was that?"

* * *

-

**Moya, Tier Four (16 arns, 3371 microts after contact)**

"What the hell?"

McKay's panicked jibber wasn't helping Sheppard's concentration in the slightest. Holding tightly to the awkward shape of the pulse rifle, he grimaced at their resident scientist and replied with a sarcastic quip.

"I don't know Rodney—maybe it doesn't like you sticking your _hand_ inside of it."

The astrophysicist jerked his head up from his task—trying to open the door manually by cutting into the wall of the ship. But this was nothing even _remotely_ like the Wraith ship doors—there was no panels, no wires or even fibers…just organic mush under that thick, leathery shell that acted as a wall.

"Well, I'm open to any other suggestions," McKay shot back, showing off a slick, goo-covered hand with a rather nasty expression. He delicately put his hand back inside the wall and even John had to wince a little. It _was_ really gross.

"Just let me blast it open," Ronon finally growled, losing his patience.

"Hold on," the colonel ordered briskly. "Just keep your damn pants on. Rodney, is this going to take much longer?"

"Hard to say." A pause. "This is more like shoving your hand inside a huge pumpkin and feeling around than it is—aha! Found something."

Sheppard tensed. "Is it something_good_?"

In return, the scientist's face twisted horribly. "You want me to tell you that just by feeling? What else could it possibly—

Naturally, this was interrupted by an impulsive, violent rock of the ship. The team was thrown off balance for a few moments. Then, before they could exchange so much as a glance, Moya began to pitch and lurch from one side to another. Not a single member of the expedition was left standing—Sheppard quickly found himself flat on the floor with a sizeable lump on his head and he heard, rather than saw, Ronon collide with McKay as they both went skidding across the tilting floor. It wasn't until the shaking had completely stopped that Sheppard could form a straight thought and climb to his elbows.

"_McKay!_" he snapped angrily.

"I didn't do anything!" the scientist half-roared back. "It just…just…it did that on its own!"

Ronon grabbed Rodney by the front of his uniform and dragged his face down to glower. "Don't…do that again."

Wide-eyed, McKay simply mumbled a few, quieter protests and dropped the issue in favor of his mental health. With an irritated flicker of his eyes, he shot Teyla a look that half-expected some sympathy…but her face was as impassive as always. So now he had strange, alien goo all over his arm _and_ everyone was mad at him for something he didn't do. Just great.

Sheppard's patience was wearing thin. The soldier in him wanted to go back to the bay where he parked the Jumper and just leave the damn place alone—but John Crichton was a guy he just couldn't leave behind. He needed to know how the hell someone from Earth got here, and he most certainly as _hell_ couldn't allow the Wraith to get their slimy hands on a ship like this. They might as well just roll out the red carpet and invite them to the home planet.

"Colonel." Teyla's voice got to him. "Look."

He looked. The door—which had been tightly shut before—had somehow opened a foot or two in the giant ship's spasm. The two little robots that had been trying to get through were already gone and probably for good…looks like they'd have to find this 'den' on their own. Now, if he could only remember what way they'd gone before…

"I'll take lead," Ronon volunteered, approaching the opening. "When we run into the Wraith, I wanna be the first to welcome them."

Usually, Sheppard didn't argue with this. Not that he'd ever admit it, but the man _was_a lot quicker when it came to shooting down Wraith, not to mention the fact that he was armed to the teeth. It was unbearable to think about what would've happened if Ronon had never joined the team.

With only a little difficulty (on McKay's part), they squeezed through the door and into the adjacent corridor. Instantly, Sheppard felt like he knew this place. All of the walls and hallways looked the same, but the corridor outside the big alien's room was just a little bit different. Scarcely a glance around told him that the door they needed would be just a couple of dozen yards ahead.

Luckily, Sheppard was not an idiot.

"This is way too easy," he remarked, rounding on his team. "I get the feeling the Wraith _want_ us to find them. And I love traps just as much as the next guy, but…"

"John…"

His attention suddenly snapped to Teyla. Her eyes had a distinct, cloudy look that could only mean one thing—Wraith. And obviously…something else. "Teyla, what is it?

She didn't look at him, and instead stared into nothingness with only the barest squinting of her eyes. "The Wraith have…done something terrible. It is almost as if…I can feel her suffering…everything she feels is…" Her voice cracked. Then she looked directly at the colonel. "We cannot let them do this. We _must_ do something."

The vehemence of her words scared him out of his wits. Teyla was never as worked up about something like this, unless it meant more to her than good 'ol life itself. Whatever this was, it probably wasn't a good idea to piss her off.

Sheppard looked long and hard into that resolute, Athosian expression and narrowed his eyes. "One way or another, we can't let the Wraith have this ship. If we go in there, Teyla, we might have no choice but to destroy it. Is that understood?"

At first, he thought she was going to strike him—but her face slackened slightly, and though it obviously pained her to obey his command, she stepped away with clenched fists. "We must _try_."

It took a moment for Sheppard to remember the boy D'Argo's expression, the obvious closeness of his family and their attachment to the ship _and_ its symbiote. He didn't want to resort to blowing up a _living ship_, but if it jeopardized the safety of Earth, then they had no choice.

It was times like these that he really, really hated the Wraith.

* * *

-

**Pilot's Den (16 arns, 3305 microts after contact)**

The scorched remains of a dozen or so DRDs littered the walkway in front of the door. It was obvious that they tried to do their best to weld it shut—D'Argo noticed the melted edges around the large, rotating frame. But no fifty-microt fusing job could have held against the three, brutish aliens with masks. D'Argo had been right there, watching them bash away at the panel until it burst open. He'd never felt so sick, frightened and angry all at once. His mom and dad, Rygel, Gala, Moya and Pilot were all in dead serious trouble, and he was useless!

One of the big monsters picked him up by his shirt and half-dragged him forward, through the broken door to the den and onto the bridge. This was where he watched the Wraith shoot all of the DRDs until nothing moved inside the enormous chamber…save the aliens.

Pilot had stopped his multitasking to focus on the intruders. The look of rage on his face was so unlike him, and that made D'Argo even more scared.

"What do you want?" Pilot demanded harshly of the Wraith as they approached.

The six Wraith split in half—two of the brutes circled around to the left, and one to the right, while the two unmasked aliens stood in confrontation with the ship's pilot. The larger of the two bared its teeth in a very callous grin. "That is hardly the way I expect to be addressed by my prisoners, much less one with such an…unfortunate position."

There was no answer from Pilot.

"You will open a channel to Commander John Crichton," the male Wraith ordered airily. "Do this and no harm will come to you for some time."

In response, the shadowed face of Moya's pilot tightened and he remained as silent as the walls of his basin.

The Wraith sighed heavily. Then, without and further warning, the brute holding onto D'Argo shoved him forward and under the looming presence of the leader. D'Argo felt the Wraith grab the back of his neck and was instantly paralyzed with trepidation, staring in absolute fear at Pilot and wishing over a thousand times that he could just go back to his nice, safe spaceship in the hangar…

"Perhaps," said his captor, "the life of this child will convince you to do as I request. This is, after all, the offspring off the man you are trying to safeguard, is it not?"

At the moment D'Argo heard this and saw Pilot's reaction, he knew that they'd both lost to these stupid-smelling aliens. He wanted to yell at him, and get angry for betraying his dad and mom by listening to invaders…but his body was frozen. It didn't make any sense—it was just that he couldn't move, or say anything. He had to stand there and watch the bad guys win. It wasn't fair!

Solemnly, Moya's symbiotic partner reached out with a tentative claw and tapped on of the comm buttons. Clearly satisfied, the Wraith clutched D'Argo even tighter and chuckled.

"Commander John Crichton," it hissed gently. "As you are currently racing towards your death, I feel inclined to entertain you with this fact: I am now in possession of your offspring."

More than anything, D'Argo wanted to jump out and scream at his dad to not listen to the ugly Wraith, but nothing could convince his limbs to work anymore.

"In exchange for the safe return of the boy, you and your female counterpart will peacefully surrender the living ship and abandon this futile struggle."

Maybe his dad couldn't hear it? Or maybe he wasn't paying any attention? D'Argo didn't know what would be worse—getting rescued, or not getting rescued. He just didn't want these stupid aliens setting a trap for his family! Who gave them permission to start messing around with them in the first place? Didn't they know who his dad was? Or what he'd done to save the _whole entire_ galaxy?

And to his dismay, he heard his father reply from the other end of the channel. His mom was there, too. They were _both_ looking for him. They weren't going to let him get hurt. No, no, no…they were going to give up Moya! They _couldn't_ do that!

But nothing—nothing at all would compare to what the Wraith said next.

"Your concern with the ship's well-being is admirable," it informed them bluntly. "But you see, whether or not you choose to accept my offer, your ship and its symbiote will eventually die. Perhaps…I can assist you in making your decision easier."

The Wraith's grasp on his neck became so tight that D'Argo had to stifle a cry. Then, all at once, it let him go and twisted its white-haired head to the other alien standing on its left. Not a single word was exchanged, but there were already stones sinking to the bottom of the boy's stomach. Churning and boiling, they kicked up a storm in his abdomen that practically cramped with dread.

Glassy-eyed, D'Argo watched the second, stringy-haired Wraith step closer to Pilot's basin. Tongue-tied, he saw the alien lean closer as Pilot, transfixed by some unseen force, sat there with the same numbness that the boy felt.

Horrified, D'Argo saw the Wraith draw its hand back and slam it down underneath Pilot's chin. For the smallest second, he couldn't figure out why—

And then Pilot started to scream. Terribly.

And while Moya began to shudder and quake, sway and groan in response to her Pilot's agony, D'Argo felt a surge inside of him growing.

Pilot was screaming.

Suddenly, D'Argo was screaming, too.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_**Orsus Comitas**_

AN: I didn't get a clone, but I did get a nice scarf. Yay!

* * *

-

_Chapter Six_

_-  
_

**Moya, Pilot's Den (16 arns, 3315 microts after contact)**

D'Argo didn't even hear the sound of the pulse rifles until he was flung onto the ground and saw the bright flashes through the corners of his eyes. On pure instinct, he grabbed the nearest DRD husk and clutched it to his chest. He tried to make himself as small and protected as possible as a full-scale battle erupted on both ends of the bridge.

He felt someone grab his arm and haul him to his feet. It was one of the 'Kavian strangers—the big one with the shaggy hair. Even before his feet touched the ground, D'Argo was off like a shot towards the charred door of the den. He crouched there, still clinging to his dead DRD and watching the encounter with wide, fear-filled eyes.

Two of the big Wraith guys bellowed as they were shot right off the edge of the platform. They weren't dead—but unless they could breathe through bat droppings, they probably would be soon. The boy gleefully cheered to himself. He still thought the strangers were evil, but at least they were being useful.

Shock rage anger fear sorrow pain worry helpless chaos

It all flashed through him like a bunch of Mag'arki cards being shuffled around in someone's hands. Even though he forced it out again, he felt his heart pounding in his chest after it went away. Terrified, he looked back at the battle—

Then the leader of the Wraith fired a shot from his own blue-energy gun. It hit the female of the group on her shoulder and she fall back with a cry of surprise.

That made the others angrier.

It was one against four now. Obviously the weird blue alien with his ugly white hair didn't think it was smart to stay there and get shot like his friends. Abandoning the last two of the uglier ones—the third was already on the ground with his chest melted in several places—to their fate, the skinny Wraith leapt off the edge of the platform…and landed on the lower level of Pilot's den, where he promptly disappeared. The leader of the 'Kavians—Sheppard?—leaned over the edge, as if he wanted to after the alien. By now, the last of the hulking brutes had been shot into the empty void.

Now all that remain was D'Argo, the strangers, a single bluish-grey corpse and a very wounded Pilot. Everyone seemed to have forgotten he was there, and he tried to listen to the bits of conversation they were having…but his ears still hurt from all the noise. D'Argo dropped the husk of the DRD, with an apologetic wince, and inched forward along the bridge to try and get into earshot. He had to hear them. He had to prove that they were here to hurt Moya!

* * *

-

**Moya, Pilot's Den (16 arns, 3567 microts after contact)**

Not for the first time, John Sheppard wished he had started counting the number of Wraith he took down from day one. If he'd know he would be doing it this often, he would have starting keeping track. Unlike some members of his team, though, a track record in death-bringing didn't appeal to him so much. It was just too damned bad Todd got away. Now they were screwed for certain—he'd send for more Wraith from the cruiser, or worse.

Hopefully, they still wanted this ship alive. If not, it would only take a couple of seconds for them to blow it apart.

"You alright, McKay?" He tossed the question over like a baseball, since it really wasn't his sport and it was something that just came naturally after a battle.

"Fine. No, make that a symbolic 'fine'. My brain and my fingers are intact, if that's what you mean. Which we all know it is."

"Sheppard," said Ronon bluntly. "That alien thing doesn't look good."

It took only an instant for the colonel to look over and spot the less-than-delicate evidence of the Wraith's feast. Blackish-purple blood trickled from the deep punctures in the ship's pilot's armored chest. He'd never have believed it until now, but the Wraith was obviously expanding their menu to include large, crustacean-like aliens and their biological, space-faring ship counterparts. The pilot made long, painful wheezing sounds that were quite obviously and tremendously wrong.

"This is bad," Sheppard growled, starting forward.

"Stop!" shouted D'Argo. The boy ran past the colonel, giving him a pointless shove to his legs. In a single bound, he climbed onto Pilot's workstation and stood between the alien and Sheppard's team. He glared at them. "You've hurt him enough! Stay away from us!"

"What—" McKay protested with a 'huh' of irate disbelief. "We didn't have anything to do with this, you ungrateful, little twer—

"Rodney. Shut up." The colonel's tone was peaked in warning. It worked. The scientist rolled his eyes and gave up his point.

Sheppard glanced over at the sorry panorama in the middle of the large chamber and stepped over to where Teyla lay half-sprawled gripping her numbed shoulder. "It did not strike true," she promised with a slight shake to her voice. "I will be fine."

But the sound of running, pounding footsteps outside the door of the colossal chamber drew everyone's attention to John Crichton and his wife as they came stampeding through. There was not a moment wasted before Crichton whipped out his pulse rifle and pointed it at the Atlantis team leader. Aeryn also drew a pulse pistol and aimed it at Ronon, who was already aiming at Chrichton. There was a definite standoff.

"Dad!" The boy flung himself at the commander, ignorant of the tensions between the adults. Crichton grimaced a little, ruffling the back of his son's hair. D'Argo looked up at him, frantic, "I can't wake Pilot up, Dad. The bad aliens did something bad to him, and then Moya started to go crazy, and then these guys showed up and killed the ugly monsters, but the one that did all the talking ran away—

"Slow down, Gonzalez," said Crichton, training his eye on Sheppard's face. "What did you do?"

"Look," said the colonel, lowering his own alien weapon in an act of ridiculous surrender. "All we did was come to the kid's rescue, okay? We figured the Wraith would come here, and turns out we were right." There was a slight betrayal of anxiety on his face. "I'm sorry about your pilot, but we kind of did get here as fast as we could."

"Oh, shut up." Aeryn leapt across the narrow bridge, dropping her pistol in the process. She climbed over Pilot's bulkhead and swung her legs around, seizing the large alien's head in her hands. "Pilot? Pilot, wake up. Come on, you have to open your eyes and talk to Moya…_please_, Pilot."

There was a tremor in the walls of the surrounding chamber. Everyone present, with the exception of D'Argo, looked around with intensity, expecting another one of the Leviathan's worried tantrums. When nothing more happened, the even more bothersome standoff continued.

"We…" Sheppard squinted his eyes a little, finding it hard to believe he was actually using this bargaining chip. But they couldn't just stand there all day, waiting for the Wraith to attack again. "Look, it goes without saying that we know a lot more about the Wraith upstairs than you do. We have a working ship, and a lot of people waiting for us back home. If you let me, I'll radio back and ask for backup—

"Right, and something in my brain's telling me you're full of a lot of frelling—!" Realization that his son was right there made Crichton stop, and relax a little. "Lies," he finished quaintly. "Full of them, I'm talking full tank, double D, unhappy nappy-time lies, and I'm getting a little _cranky_ now, Colonel Sheppard. So back the hell off so we can take care of Pilot!"

Sheppard had no objections. He gave a stern nod to the standing members of his team, who followed suit when he stepped back to let the boy's parents through. Immediately, Aeryn lowered her pistol and ran towards Pilot, vaulting into his seat with cat-like agility.

She put her hands on either side of his face and tilted it towards her. "Pilot," she said slowly. "Moya needs you. We need you. Now we can't find out what's wrong until you open your eyes and tell us."

Whether it was the traces of his DNA in her body that made a connection, or the pleading tone of her voice, Pilot just cracked open his large, yellow eyes. When they saw her, he let out a long, airy groan. "Officerrr…Sun…"

"That's right. I know it hurts right now, but you need to tell us if something's wrong with Moya. The Wraith that did this to you…can any of the DRDs find him?"

The large alien blinked sleepily and said, "Moya is…fine…no…no DRDs available. So much…pain…"

A twinge of guilt entered Sheppard's brain. A few minutes ago he'd seriously considered making this entire ship explode in an effort to keep Earth safe from the Wraith, and in most cases that was entirely fair. So why did he feel like a complete jerk standing around in a mess he himself had partially made? Damn, the Wraith sucked.

On the other hand, now wasn't really the time to be complaining about the Wraith. Hell, this wasn't even his _galaxy_, but for some reason he felt responsible for this insane, rag-tag bunch of aliens getting mixed up in the business of life-sucking sociopaths. Until now, he didn't even consider that the Wraith might be able to feed off of other sentient life forms. How many non-human aliens did he run into in an average day, anyway?

The pilot's breathing was sounding less labored now, but he still appeared ready to fall unconscious any moment. Before he went charging headlong into the weirdly shaped corridors of this shp in pursuit of one of the most annoying Wraith he'd ever had the decency to let live…he really had to offer.

"Listen, uh…Crichton," he said with a tone he hoped was convincing. "Apparently we're from the same planet. So I was thinking, maybe you could trust us this once and let me get in touch with my people. They're back on Atlantis, waiting for us to dial in and tell them we're okay…y'know, so mom and dad don't worry."

"Why would I even think of letting you do that?" snapped Crichton, waving his weapon. Strangely, he didn't seem to be aiming it at anyone anymore.

"I'm not saying it's gonna be a big help or anything, but we've got a great doctor and a lot of marines who'd like to shake your hand. I might even convince them to send the Daedalus, which would solve our Wraith cruiser problem."

To his surprise, the supposedly semi-insane commander grinned, much to McKay's discomfort. Sheppard noticed the scientist's face blanch a little as Crichton spoke. "'Our' problem. Oh you are, pee are oh bee ell ee em. Funny, this doesn't seem like a fraternity to me, Colonel Sheppard. To me, this is still _your_ problem, so you'd better call whatever bake sale buddies you've got hiding behind that fancy Air Force title of yours to _do_ something about _your_ problem. And this is just a friendly suggestion from your friendly neighbourhood Crichton!"

Sheppard's team blinked in near unison at his outburst. Fidgeting a little, the commander finally lowered his pulse rifle, and swore in another language. The word 'frell' was beginning to insult Sheppard a little. But just a little.

He lowered his own P90 and nodded at Teyla. "Teyla, you and Rodney head back to the jumper. Go back to the gate and have them send Beckett and Lorne's team over. Another jumper'd be nice…just make sure to cloak. You know. Wraith ship." He glanced over to Ronon next. "Chewy, you're with me. If we can't use the ship to find him, I'm gonna need those handy Runner tricks of yours to track down our buddy Todd."

"Was waiting for you to say that," Ronon grunted, powering up his pistol with one hand.

Sheppard noticed that Crichton was staring him down. "Now," he said. "Let's start over. My name's John Sheppard, and this is my team, whose names you already know. Welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy."

* * *

-

**Moya, Tier Six (17 arns, 611 microts after contact)**

The temporary agreement made by both parties involved one simple rule: one member of Sheppard's team would stay with Crichton and Aeryn Sun at all times. It was a rule that was promptly broken, after McKay and Teyla left to get backup from Atlantis and Ronon found himself running through one weird corridor after another looking for a Wraith who literally had a million places to hide. Crichton stayed with his wife and kid in the pilot's den, which made Ronon uncomfortable. From what he gathered, that was the control room, or whatever. They could just vent him and Sheppard into space whenever they felt like it.

Then again, that giant alien didn't stay conscious for very long. Ronon wondered how much the Wraith had drained—not that he had much experience, but it looked like an alien that lived a long time. Unfortunately, that meant the Wraith they were hunting down was going to be _extremely_ hard to kill.

He jogged through one of the ship's tiers behind Sheppard, glancing at every corner and shadow for traces of movement. Suddenly, 'Moya' shuddered violently around them, accompanied by a groaning sound that made the floor vibrate. When it was over, his team leader swung his head around to look at him.

"Do you get the feeling it's watching us?" he asked, almost conversationally. They didn't stop, but Ronon was more than happy to offer up his opinion.

"If it is, I just hope it knows we're on its side by now," he replied. They rounded a corner and met another branch, that looped over to the left. They chose it. "We kinda did let its pilot get fed on by a Wraith."

"I don't really think it's anybody's fault that the Wraith showed up. I mean, this thing's gotta be giving off some massive signals to the nearby systems, right?"

"McKay'd know. Ask him later."

The inside of the living ship had a peculiar smell, he noticed after a while. It was a little like the scent of a large reptile combined with an almost earth-like mossy smell. If someone had left their leather coat sitting in the rain for a few days, this is what it would probably smell like after it got ruined. Bottom line was, it wasn't a bad like a Wraith ship. The fact that it was being ventilated clearly meant that the ship was designed for people to live in. When he first got here, it was like he'd been swallowed by an enormous monster. Now it felt as though the living spaceship wanted to make its inhabitants happy.

All of this unusual thought was shattered when Sheppard came to a dead halt, his P90 raised at a target in front of them. Instantly, Ronon brought his blaster up. A gentle thud came from just around the bend and a shadow briefly flashed over the wall.

The moment the shape came bursting into view, Ronon fired. The hot energy blast seared the wall—the grey-and-white blur made a startled yowling sound and jumped into the air. Before he could fire off a second round, it struck him that the creature he was trying to kill wasn't Wraith.

Whatever it was, it was clinging to the ribbed wall of the corridor, bristling and hissing at them. It was small and mostly shaped like a feline rather than a human, but its fur was too long to matter. The creature had no clothes on—the fur was thick enough to cover anything that might have been indecent—but the face of it was roughly feminine and human-like, if wrinkled with its flat nose. Its triangle ears were flattened and its teeth bared ferociously.

"Who orrrrr what arrrre you?" she snapped with a throaty and not very attractive voice. It was a voice that sounded like it belonged somewhere between the age of fifty and sixty…maybe. "Why arrrre you trrresspassing in Gala's territory! Bad males! Evil males!"

"Uh…" Sheppard slowly put the nose of his P90 down. "S-Sorry. I guess."

"You guess! He guesses! Chrrrrichton knows 'dis is my tier! All mine! You turrrn away now and leave! Go otherrrr way!"

"Okay, okay, no problem," the colonel said quickly, taking a surrendering step backwards. He nudged Ronon, hard. Ronon begrudgingly lowered his weapon. "We didn't know. But before we go, can we ask you an important question?"

Her sharp pupils stared him down. "Hurrrry up! I not carrre!"

"Have you seen a scary alien in black leather come this way recently?"

'Gala' hissed. "No! Bye-bye now!"

"Sheppard…" Ronon growled.

"I know," the colonel shot back under his breath. "Pretend we didn't go this way. This chalks up to a whole new level of strange things I'd rather not remember seeing on this ship."

"Fair enough." The Satedan powered down his blaster and turned away to leave. If only McKay were here…the amusement he'd get seeing his face after this would make this all worth it. He tagged behind his team leader until they reached the branch in the tier they had come to earlier.

"Ronon?"

"Yeah?"

"Was there a hole in that wall over there a minute ago?"

A pinprick of confusion followed Ronon's eyes to the spot where Sheppard pointed. Three feet from the ground, about four ribs away, there was a glistening, raw-looking indent about the size of a human head sunken into the tissue of the corridor wall. It looked…well, sick. Not burnt from weapons fire, but like it was starting to disintegrate.

"…No."

Then, as if on cue, a discoloured blob of 'ship flesh' plummeted from the ceiling and landed right on Sheppard's shoulder. The colonel glanced at it incredulously, and his eyes slowly traveled upwards.

"Ah, frell."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Orsus Comitas**_

AN: If you're wondering what it means, it's 'Beginning Kindness' or…'New Alliance' or something…it was a long time ago, okay? -_-

_Chapter Seven_

**Outside Moya, Jumper Five (20 hours, 12 minutes and 55 seconds after contact)**

Doctor Carson Beckett never liked travelling through Stargates to begin with. On top of that, flying around in a machine that defied the laws of physics into Wraith-infested territories didn't make his list of favourite things to do. Cloaked or no, seeing that purple-and-black thing hovering so nearby made him a bit queasy. At least it did until he saw the gargantuan 'creature ship' McKay had been babbling about only a few dozen kilometers away. It was possibly the grandest and scariest thing he had seen in his life, all at the same time.

He listened to one of Lorne's team swear under his breath and decided against chiding the lad for his vocabulary. "Rodney," he said instead, addressing the scientist currently piloting the cloaked Puddlejumper back to the alien spaceship. "Remind me again why I'm coming along on this excursion? I mean, ye know I'd love tae help in any way I can, but how exactly am I supposed tae help a patient whose physiology I don't even know?"

"Carson," Rodney snapped back. He had tiny beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to inconspicuously sneak an invisible flying Puddlejumper into the docking hangar of a helpless space whale well within range of a fully armed _Wraith_ cruiser. Can we _please_ save the unnecessary questions for when our lives aren't in mortal peril?"

The response wasn't entirely unexpected. Rodney would be under a lot of stress, and flying the jumper didn't help matters much. Carson looked over at Lorne, who exchanged a liberal expression with the doctor. The corner of the major's lip tightened with amusement before dropping again.

As the jumper entered the cavernous hangar and the 'Leviathan's doors closed automatically, McKay let out a long breath and seemed to mentally let go of an immense burden. Teyla, with a smirk that resembled Lorne's, patted him gently on the shoulder. "Well done, Rodney. We made it to Atlantis and back without being detected by the Wraith cruiser, just as I said we would."

The scientist sighed a little. "Yeah…uh…how's the shoulder, by the way?"

"It feels much better. Dr. Beckett looked at it while you were concentrating on flying."

"Oh…" His knuckles, which were just starting to get their flushed tone back, unclenched as he sat up. "Oh!" His hand snapped up to his headset and a moment later, he had established radio contact with the other half of their team again. "Sheppard, this is McKay. Dr. Beckett and Lorne's team are with us..."

"_Great_," came the response over everyone's radios. "_That's probably the best news we've got since you guys left, in fact. Carson, we could really use your input over here."_

"Glad I can be of some help, Colonel," the Scotsman answered with a twinge of doubt. "Thought I am a wee bit nervous considering the unusual venue, I might add."

_"Sorry about that, doc. Major, what's your status?"_

"We're battle-ready and waiting for your orders, Colonel Sheppard," Lorne said, glancing around at the other three members of his team. "Colonel Caldwell was also made aware of your situation and is en route, ETA seven hours, assuming they don't have any Wraith problems of their own. Jumper Five and Lieutenant Padley's team, along with Drs. Zelenka and Biro just in case are right behind us. Should get here in another hour."

It would be Dr. Biro's first official offworld experience, Carson recalled. If this could be considered a world, in any case. She was a good, strong woman and he was going to need all the help he could get when it came to treating a non-humanoid lifeform for a sickness he knew nothing about. Her experience with victims of Wraith and recoveries from Wraith enzyme exceeded anyone else's, and that wasn't mentioning her unmatched expertise in pathology. Good God, what was he getting into?

_"Alright. Hold off on the Wraith hunt and join McKay and Teyla down here with the rest of our new friends. Crichton says the little yellow D things will show you the way here. Sheppard out."_

"You heard the man," Lorne told the gathered adults standing around the rear compartment. He reached out and hit the switch to the ramp, and waited for it to open into the alien hangar.

Three battle-scarred and sorry-looking yellow machines came scuttling towards them as soon as the group moved out into the hangar. Neither Rodney nor Teyla seemed to be concerned about them, but Lorne's team still seized their P-90's defensively.

"Ah, right…those things…" McKay's face scrunched a little, almost apologetically. "Um…there's really no way to put this without making it sound weird, is there? Stay still so the little guys can give you your shots."

Carson blinked his eyes at him as they were surrounded. "I beg your pardon?"

That was what he managed to say when he felt a pinprick in his ankle. Vocalizing his surprise, Carson jumped back and away from the strange little machine. Two of Lorne's men made similar sounds, followed by Lorne himself. It was almost funny, but it was a good thing Rodney had the sense to warn them or the miniature bug-like robots would have ended up with a few dozen bullet holes in their shells. "What in God's name was that?" Carson demanded of the scientist.

"As far as I can tell...it just makes it so you can understand what the aliens are saying. I don't get it either, okay?" McKay sounded annoyed, unsurprisingly. "Probably some kind of microscopic…oh, boy…I don't want to think about anything microscopic swimming around my body right now. I already analyzed them—no nanites. At least, not the ones we're used to…just…let's go, shall we?"

"If McKay thinks it harmless, I'm convinced," Lorne said begrudgingly. Even Carson agreed on some level, though what in this great wide universe had the ability to translate foreign languages once injected…it fascinated him and scared the crap out of him, too. This was going to be quite a pattern, it seemed.

**Moya, Pilot's Den (20 arns, 1202 microts after contact)**

It had been almost a day, according to Sheppard's watch, since they first walked into this bizarre heart of the living alien ship. Normal people would be exhausted, but neither Crichton nor Aeryn appeared the slightest bit bothered. D'Argo their son, on the other hand, was fast asleep in his room…wherever that was, it was close by and very, very locked. Young boys spent energy as fast as they drank it, and with all of the recent excitement it was no surprise the kid practically passed out on the floor.

He'd given Crichton the news about Tier Five falling apart, which made Crichton a tad bit crankier than before. Something was making the ship's living tissue fall apart and it had something to do with the Wraith feeding on their pilot. The moment he heard McKay's voice over the radio, shattering the uncomfortable silence, John felt both relieved and anxious. Finding Todd was going to be hard, but figuring out how to _stop_ screwing things up for this ship and everyone else on board was going to be one hell of a challenge.

The once seriously skeptical and vocal Pilot was still mostly out cold, too. Sheppard didn't even bother wondering what happened to the weird, wrinkled Rygel guy…there were probably members of Crichton's crew on board that even Crichton didn't know about. Like that Gala lady…bizarreness at its crest.

He told McKay and the others to come to the 'den', expecting this reunion and round of introductions to go over not as smoothly as he dared to hope. When he heard the door at the end of the bridge twist open, he wasn't the only one to glance over.

"Oh my lord…" he heard Carson say out loud, apparently when he saw his patient. Lorne clapped a hand on the doctor's back and gave him a gentle push forward.

Not to the colonel's surprise, Crichton picked up his pulse rifle again and looked warily at the group of armed marines that approached them. The fact that they _were_ marines, albeit a collection of military personnel from various countries across Earth, obviously had something to do with his sudden agreement with Sheppard's back-up plan. It was getting easier and easier to believe that this man was a genuine Earth native, when one looked past the blatant absurdities.

"Commander, I'd like you to meet Dr. Beckett. If it's okay, he's going to take a look at your pilot and see if he can do something about his condition. That's Major Lorne, Second Lieutenant Salley, and Privates Harper and MacDaniels. They're be helping me and Ronon find the Wraith we're looking for."

"You'll look at Pilot?" Aeryn interjected, as she'd been sitting on the edge of the large alien's seat since moment she had returned from putting her son to bed. "Well, hurry up. He hasn't regained consciousness in over an hour, and Moya's getting more and more anxious."

Carson's blank expression alerted Sheppard. He pointed to the ceiling. "Moya is the ship," he reminded the good doctor, who nodded his head in an acute daze.

"I…I suppose I can do what I can," said Carson, breaking out of his fear of the alien and putting the bag he had been carrying down next to the bulkhead. Private MacDaniels brought him his second bag of equipment and stood behind the doctor at a protective distance. Oblivious, Carson grabbed a small kit from his belongings and looked for some possible way to climb over the barrier in front of him.

Aeryn Sun offered him a hand with no expression whatsoever, which he took. A moment later, he was crouched right next to her, inches away from the comatose crustacean-like alien that reminded him more of a battle tank than a helmsman.

Sheppard took this opportunity to lure Crichton into the pending briefing on their Wraith situation. Like it or not, the easily provoke father-gone-nuts was already standing in front of Lorne and his two remaining teammates. Ronon looked over at Sheppard expectantly.

"Okay," the colonel started, shattering the awkward moment. "Let's start at the beginning. I think by now we owe each other a nice, brief explanation of what's going on. Right now, there's a Wraith cruiser breathing down our necks and I'm pretty sure there's at least one hive ship on the way to give our old buddy Todd his much needed reinforcements. Even if the Daedalus gets here before them, they're gonna have a hell of a time defending this position for very long."

"Right," Ronon added. "So we move. Get McKay or somebody to fix the ship and let's get the hell out of here."

"Me? Huh!" McKay snorted and dropped his hands to his sides. "I'd have about as much success fixing anything on this ship as I do at lacrosse, which—believe me—is _not_ a topic up for discussion right now."

"What Rodney means," Sheppard half-growled, shooting him a glare, "is that he's not qualified to fix a _living_ spaceship. If we somehow get your pilot back on his feet—metaphorically speaking—then I'm guessing he'll figure out a way to get Moya to move for us. But then again, only one of us here who knows that for sure is you, Crichton."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be a great plan," Crichton responded. "If we somehow knew what fried Moya in the first place, it would be an actual _plausible_ plan. But, oh yeah! Moya's starting to melt inside!"

"All right, calm down!" snapped the colonel. "We don't know what's causing that, either. We're trying to rescue both your family, your crew _and_ this whole ship, but you're going to have to accept that in the end, it's possible you're going to have to—"

"Ah!" That exclamation was loud enough to make a faint echo somewhere in the depths of the massive chamber. "Put down those cards, cowboy. Abandoning Moya isn't plan B, C or letter's D through W, either. This ship isn't our _ship_, Colonel. She's part of the family, and so is Pilot. Hell, even Rygel's like the pet hamster in our crazy carnival, so either she Stabursts outta here with _everyone_ on board, or you can take your fancy flying tubes and get the _Hezmana_ out of Moya."

The gathered members of the Atlantis expedition and accompanying Pegasus Galaxy residents all stared in unison at Crichton's next outburst. In some way, the commander's treatment of both the ship and the injured pilot made a lot more sense with an explanation like that…but damn, did it ever make things a lot worse to deal with. Sheppard furled his brow. And what the hell was a Starburst?

"So, what it boils down to is…" He trailed off, and deliberately looked over at Carson. "Carson, you got anything so far?"

The Scotsman sighed heavily and stopped examining the puncture marks on the pilot's chest. "Only a deduction and a theory, Colonel. I'm sorry, but I cannae help much over here unless I've an idea of what's inside this poor creature."

"I can live with a theory, doc," said Sheppard. "What's up?"

"So far as I can tell…the Wraith that fed on him must have used a much larger dose of the feeding enzyme than they typically use on humans. I'm not surprised; this is a much larger life form than they're used to. Given his symbiotic nature with the ship, I would wager that both creatures are suffering the aftereffects of the enzyme."

"So Moya's sickness is caused by a kind of poison the Wraith gave to Pilot," said Aeryn, getting straight to the point. "There is no antidote we can give him to stop her from decaying?"

"I'm afraid not, luv," the kind doctor responded, using the moment to carefully open one of Pilot's eyes and examine them with a tiny light. "If only it were that easy. I've seen quite enough of my dear friends suffering from the enzyme withdrawal in my time on Atlantis. Oh, my…" He quickly let the eyelid close and faced her again. "His pupils aren't responding as well as I hoped. I'm terribly sorry, I don't mean tae upset, but if this creature were human, his sympathetic nervous system would have shut down a long time ago."

"In English, Jeremiah," Crichton advised with a tone of warning. "How bad are we talking here?"

"On the contrary, this is actually quite good, Commander. Figuratively, he's gotten past the biggest hurtle. In fact, by human standards, this may very well be the strongest reaction of a Wraith feeding that I've ever witnessed. I need a lot more time tae look at your large friend here, and I may even be able to administer something to help alleviate the worst of his symptoms."

Sheppard felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "Well then," he said matter-of-factly, nodding at Crichton. "That's great news. I'm certain we'll all turn out to be great friends in the end. Right, Rodney?"

He chose McKay at random, and the scientist flinched at the mention of his name. His eyes flickered between the colonel and the stone-faced Crichton for a brief second. "Huh? Oh, yeah…sure. Friends. What's one cold, cramped overnight visit in a locked prison cell?'"

"Okay, maybe not McKay, but then, he's not really the type of friend you'd want anyway," he shot back. He heard Lorne made a sound that was vaguely like a laugh choked back and disguised as a cough. There was a sour look on Rodney's face that didn't escape anyone's attention, but despite his sacrificial goat status, the mood in the oversized chamber didn't lighten in the slightest. Sheppard nodded to Lorne's team. "Major, have two of your men stay behind and guard this room. Teyla, you're in charge…of _our _people, that is, while Rodney…you just…stay put and see if you can use your brain to figure out a way to keep the Wraith from barging in on us."

"Oh, naturally."

"Ronon, you're with me. We're going to have Lorne's group take this half of the ship, and we'll take the other. Crichton, now's a good time to pick a team or forever hold your peace."

"Ye-ah-hah, and let you go galloping around Moya without adult supervision? No thank you," the disgruntled father replied, cocking his pulse rifle. "Let's lock and load, baby." He then paused. "Been some time since I've been able to say that with a straight face. Huh."

"Keep me posted, doc," Sheppard told Carson, to which he received a mumbled confirmation.

MacDaniels and Salley stayed inside the den, just inside the door as both teams filed into the corridor. Crichton stayed within half a pace of the colonel's shoulder, giving him the distinct impression that 'friends' was going to be a far stretch for the kind of direction their rapport was going. It was too bad Weir couldn't be here right now. Somehow, he had a feeling that she would have these people wrapped around her fingers…well, maybe just one.

Diplomacy was always his worst subject in school, anyway.

**Moya, Pilot's Den (20 arns, 2588 microts after contact)**

If there had been a quieter night in Moya since the exhausting years before D'Argo's birth, it was not one Aeryn remembered that well. Never in a thousand cycles would she have imagined that they would be stranded in a place so barren, so unfamiliar with so many hostile, alien forces after they left Sebacean territory for far more peaceful planets. If those Plokavian pirates hadn't attacked them out of nowhere, none of this would have happened. Yet here they were again, stranded and crippled. Moya nad Pilot were falling prey to an evil that surpassed some of the things her own people had done in the past.

Then again, she imagined these Wraith merely 'fed' when they needed to, in order to survive. What she had done in the past…

…was in the past. She'd stopped thinking about that so many cycles ago. Now wasn't the time to start that up again.

The man with the soft hands and unusual accent had just finished filling a syringe with Pilot's blood. He already had a sort of laboratory of his own set up in various places along the outer shell of the seat where Pilot lived. She had been hostile at first to what this so-called doctor had in mind for her dear friend, but it took only a few minutes to realize that he was fascinated in a way that reminded her of D'Argo, whenever he discovered something new and exotic. It also reminded her of the way John used to be, when she had first arrived on Moya. It was becoming harder and harder to doubt that these strangers really were from the Earth from which Crichton originated from.

"What do you plan to do with that?" she asked Dr. Beckett, once the vial of thick, dark violet liquid was ready.

He glanced up at her briefly, as if eager to explain the process of his findings. "It's nothing much, really. I hope that taking a closer look at his blood cells might give me a better understanding of his biological structure. Of course," he added with an almost apologetic chuckle, "most of my equipment is still on its way, so I'll be relying on good old-fashioned microscopic technology. I'd hardly want to give him a dose of diazepam if there is too much sodium in his blood to negatively affect his polysynaptic charges, for example."

After a moment, Aeryn nodded her head once, and slowly. "I…see," she said, forcing back a laugh of her own. "I'll take your word on it for now." She watched as the doctor placed a few drops of the blood sample on a small, clear strip and stepped over to the device he had take out earlier. He then leaned forward and pressed his eyes against the cylindrical part of the machine, apparently examining a magnified version of the liquid through the lenses.

A few seconds later, he breathed, "Wow."

Aeryn tried to not imagine the disgusting creature who had once so long ago demanded samples of the crews' DNA in exchange for information. She couldn't justly compare a fekkik display of the universe's worst scum to the seemingly gentle-natured man in front of her. In a sense, perhaps Beckett really was genuinely interested in helping Pilot for the sake of good will. If that were the case, her outlook on all of Sheppard's companions might change once again…for the better, of course.

"I suppose there's no use in trying tae explain what I can see here, but this really is quite fascinating." Beckett stood straight up again and glanced over at the sleeping pilot with a new spark in his eyes. "Beyond explanation. Not only am I quite certain that I can help your friend recover, lass, but his proteins and quite possibly those of your lovely ship herself…there may be a way to stop the Wraith for good. Holy crap, I've got to tell Rodney about this…" Without a second glance at his machine, the doctor rushed over to where his comrade stood hovering over his computer.

It didn't make all that much sense in her mind, but Aeryn supposed that Beckett's enthusiasm wasn't a complete waste. After all, as long as these 'allies' of theirs found a way to keep Moya alive...she shamelessly cared less about the fate of either the Wraith or the 'Erpmen'.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Orsus Comitas**_

AN: All medical theories stated in this chapter _are_ theoretical. Just had a biology course in college, but I'm no doctor. It's sci-fi, let's pretend we know the unknown.

Also, I know I have frequent errors. Aha…I did accidentally write Aeryn running to Pilot twice last chapter. When you write 2 paragraphs every few days, that happens…yeah…so…enjoy!

* * *

-

_Chapter Eight_

_-  
_

**Moya, Command Center (23 arns, 340 microts after contact)**

Sheppard sat on the edge of the strange alien seat, listening to Beckett excitedly chatter away about proteins, chemical transfers and other weird things he didn't understand a thing about. It wasn't until the Scotsman used the word 'Hoffan' that his military (and better judgment) senses went on full alert.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there a minute, Doctor," he cut in quickly, stopping him in mid-sentence. "We've established the Hoffan drug is a terrible thing, which cost a lot of people around the galaxy their homes, not to mention their _lives_. We burned that bridge for a reason."

"No, you don't understand, Colonel," Beckett insisted, in that manner he usually used when he was on to something_ big_ and knew he could pull it off. It was the same look McKay used, only with Dr. Beckett, Sheppard didn't feel a prickling of an oncoming headache when it happened. "We founded our research on strictly human-only genetic DNA, using our own natural inhibiting sugar-to-protein theories as a basis to counteract the Wraith feeding process. Human molecular structure degenerates very quickly when compared to many other types of species, such as the Ancients or the Asgard. Essentially, we die all tae quickly. In the grand scheme of things, if hadn't been so damned plentiful to begin, we'd be a rather sore choice of a food source for the Wraith."

Sheppard held up a hand in front of him. "Alright, I get it; we're the appetizers on the Pegasus Galaxy food chain. What does that have to do with the Hoffan drug—biological weapon?"  
"I've only run the most basic of tests so far, Colonel, but if what I'm seeing is what I think it is…dear Lord, there may very well be a vaccine against the Wraith after all."

"Well, hallelujah!" chimed Crichton from his corner of the command room, throwing his hands into the air. He stalked forward with a frown creasing his forehead, looking just about as pissed as he had three minutes ago. "Now explain to me how _any_ of this helps Moya, or the moment Pilot comes outta rehab, I'm telling him to vent _everyone_ who isn't part of my family into the hard vacuum of the universe."

"Commander, I beg your pardon," Beckett apologized sincerely, sighing as he finally took a seat across from Sheppard's team. After three hours of unsuccessful Wraith hunting, Ronon was still staring at the doorways like a cat watching a housefly. "Even with our advances in medicine, there's no firm way tae determine how or why we age or what exactly in our bodies nourishes the Wraith. As far as that vaccine back on that God-forsaken planet goes, the artificial binding elements of the serum not only created a rapid and deteriorating infection in the Wraith, but in the host as well. Our cellular density is rather weak, I'm afraid tae say. Your pilot friend, on the other hand…"

"Frell, you're not the _first_ to want a piece of Pilot!" snapped Rygel, the supposedly talking frog that Sheppard didn't quite understand yet. "Whatever is so special about _his_ DNA, it's a load of frelling wasted time, if you ask me. Getting the Starburst drive back—now there's a plan."

As usual, both sides of the uneasy alliance ignored him. Crichton's rusty scientist's brain was starting to hurt again. "All right, _fine_," he said, pinching his temples. "If this miracle cure you're talking about starts with making Pilot better and Moya happy, give it everything you've got. No Pilot, no Moya. No Moya, no Starburst. No Starburst, we all die. Any questions?"

"Just one," McKay chimed in, half-raising his hand in a mocking way. "What on Earth, or in this case, _not _Earth, is a Starburst? Other than those horribly acidic and poisonous candies my sister used to taunt me with when I was in grade school?"

"I'll tell you what it is," Rygel barked. "It's the only thing that will save our sorry hides from this schlock of a situation. There, I said it!"

"Sparky, go to your room!" Crichton rounded on him and pointed towards the corridor, though the small green Hynerian simply sat there, glowering at him.

"It's a type of technology only the Leviathan can use," Aeryn explained calmly. She was leaning against the wall, occasionally glancing down the hallway. Teyla and some of Lorne's team were babysitting the den at the moment, and if she didn't trust them, it was clear why she was uneasy being away from the enormous chamber. "It allows Moya to jump vast distances using her Starburst drive. However, it has to recharge every time it's used. And it's easily damaged by weapon's fire. She is a living creature after all, and _not_ a machine."

"Doc, as much as I want to pursue this epiphany of yours," Sheppard started with a sigh. "We've got a few problems that need to be dealt with first. Todd's still on board, lurking and waiting for his buddies to come back him up. Their ship is crippled, the Daedalus is still hours away, and we're defenseless. Now this Starburst sounds a lot like a hyperdrive, so why don't we focus on that?"

"If we can get Pilot to stay conscious long enough, he can focus on repairing the Starburst drive," said Aeryn methodically. "Many of the DRDs were destroyed and Moya's not concentrating on allowing herself to heal. Even a small jump can take us out of weapon range and we'll decide on what to do next once we're secure."

"That is a good plan. That's why I love you," Crichton reached out and planted a firm kiss on her forehead. "No loony bin was built solid enough to keep a man like me without my wife's only redeeming quality—her beautiful mind."

She stared at him briefly. "My only what?"

Crichton grimaced, took a step back and place a hand on the back of his head. "Yeeeeah, I'll pay for that later…right now, Pilot. Don't suppose you've got a jumbo-sized smelling salt in your bag of toys, huh Doc?"

"I caen't say that I do," Beckett admitted, looking somewhat flustered. "But I caen try my best; that's all I caen promise."

The partially unstable commander grabbed the butt of his pulse rifle and dragged it off the command center's module, just as he turned to approach Tier 1. "Works for me," he said, and everyone fell in behind.

* * *

-

**Moya, Pilot's Den (23 arns, 2797 microts after contact)**

Lieutenant Salley wordlessly handed Carson the needle, which he prepped out of habit by putting pressure on the plunger and allowing the air bubbles to filter out. This was the mildest stimulant he brought with him to the alien ship and he only had a hunch to go on. At the worst, it wouldn't hurt the poor pilot any more, but there was no guarantee it would help, either. He had seen one too many enzyme patients in the past; Rodney's face was still permanently etched into his brain. He glanced over at his astrophysicist friend for a moment, and McKay looked away with a tinge of embarrassment on his face.

"Here goes," the doctor announced and reached across the bulkhead towards the enormous creature. He pressed the tip of the needle into the soft tissue behind his head, where Aeryn had shown him one of the larger veins. Emptying the syringe, he then pulled it out and discarded it into the plastic container in his bag.

A moment later, Pilot let out a long, raspy sigh and moved one of his arms. Aeryn sat on the bulkhead in front of him and tried to make eye-contact through the large, fluttering eyelids.

"Pilot, can you understand me? How are you feeling?" The question was almost mechanical. In her frustration, it was hard to think of anyone's well-being other than that of her son, whom she would gladly give up anything to make safe. It made her mouth feel dry.

Moya's symbiote moaned a little. "Mooooya…poison, deteriorating…what is wrong…?"

"We know, Pilot .We're trying to figure that out. Can you talk to her for us? Is there any way to purge her system of the Wraith enzyme?" Aeryn barraged him, holding his head steady so that he could look at her and _only_ her. "You need to concentrate."

"Fractured…unstable hull density…I must fix this, the DRDs…where are they?" Pilot sleepily blinked his eyes at her. "Officer Sun…? Who are all of these people…standing in my den…?"

"Later," she told him. "This is very important. There's a toxin in your body that was transmitted to Moya and it's making her sick. Can you purge it or not?"

He looked down at his panel of buttons, seeming to forget their audience and thought for a long, long moment. "Yes," he answered slowly, but didn't sound very sure of that fact. "Moya's immune functions…already fighting off the infection…why am I so…weak?"

A knot of worry formed in the back of Carson's already churning brain. The enzyme was meant to empower the human body, not drain it of all energy. The effects on this alien creature were nearly the complete opposite—if the Wraith had continued feeding, his body would have likely become too weak to endure it. This explained the odd strains of cells (that he had nicknamed 'factory cells', to his associates' amusement) in his blood. In his sample, the enzyme cells were being devoured by the factory cells, much like a human's white blood cells would. He had seen similar genetics in Ancient DNA, the little of it he had managed to secure and examine. But the cells were violent, and likely causing Pilot a great deal of physical and mental stress. It was like the withdrawal symptoms, but without the thankful strength it provided.

"I know you're tired and in pain," Aeryn was saying to the pilot, much softer now. "But more Wraith will be here soon and they intend to hurt Moya. We need the Starburst drive so that we can escape, and let you and Moya rest."

Pilot's glassy eyes travlled across the broad panel in front of him and he tentatively used a claw to touch one of the buttons. A moment later, he sighed again. "Starburst chamber…not enough DRDs…drone birthing cycle won't be complete for another twelve…arns…" His head began to droop again and his claw slumped on top of the controls.

"No, Pilot. I need you here," Aeryn pulled his head back up. "All of the available DRDs that aren't being repair must go to fix the Starbust drive. We only need a little more, and then you can rest for as long as you like. I promise."

"Not…enough," he tried again to feebly explain. "It would take…at least one solar…day…"

"Let me do it."

The sound of the voice startled everyone in the chamber, Crichton included. As a whole, Lorne's team, Sheppard's team, both additional scientists and the native parents on board the ship turned to face the door at the end of the walkway. D'Argo stood there, with a DRD in his arms, its antennas wiggling back and forth. "I can help fix it. I know how."

"What are you doing outside your room?" Crichton half-exclaimed, crossing the bridge towards him. Harper and MacDaniels stepped aside in a hurry to let him through. D'Argo just looked up at him as his father approached.

"He told me what's going on," he said, as though it were obvious. "Most of the DRDs are dead, so someone has to fix the Starburst. He told me what I have to do, so I can do it. Please, let me try, Dad!"

It was an outrageous boast for an eight-year-old to make and it left the members of the Atlantis expedition stunned. Teyla was eying him with newfound curiosity and Ronon just looked dubious. Aeryn stared at her son with a mixture of awe and trepidation as he set the little yellow drone down on the ground and looked at them expectantly. "I think I can hear Moya, too. It's mostly like hearing someone shout a lot without the words, not really. I want to help, I really do."

"You…you're listening to _Moya_?" Crichton apparently couldn't absorb it all at once.

"The DRDs, too. They're quieter. Can I try and help them fix it? I won't go alone. They can come with me." D'Argo pointed at Sheppard and McKay, who exchanged looks. "Moya's afraid that the Wraith will come and hurt Pilot again and everyone on board, too. I think she likes Sheppard because he's a lot like her creators." His eye furled a little at the colonel. "He doesn't look that cool, though," he added, using one of the words his father had taught him.

"I _try_," Sheppard said with an edge of annoyance.

"D'Argo, how long…how long have you heard these things?" asked Aeryn, unaware that Pilot was drifting back into unconsciousness. "Why haven't you told either of us?"

"I didn't think it was really anything until the Plokavian…I mean, the Atlantis people came," the boy replied a little hesitantly. "I can get the Starburst drive fixed a lot faster than the DRDs if they tell me how. Can I do it? Please?"

No, thought Aeryn. She wanted her son safe, locked securely in his room where nothing could harm him—no matter what happened to herself or his father. One look at his face, however, and she saw Crichton's irrefutable determination. Age eight, and he was already becoming too much like a rebellious soldier for anyone's good. Her lips pressed tightly together. No one said anything for half a minute.

"Look, if the kid can buy us any time at all," Sheppard began, gesturing to D'Argo. "That'd give the Daedalus a chance to get to us and take care of the Wraith before they send in a Hive Ship or two. _And_ it'd give Dr. Beckett the time to try and help your pilot. It's our best option."

"He's not your son," Crichton reminded him. "So _I'm_ going to go with him. You, your yeti friend, and the nerd, too. At the first _hint_ of a Wraith attack…"

"Yeah, yeah, hard vacuum, I got it." The colonel stood up and stared D'Argo down for a moment. "Looks like it's up to you, kid. You don't like me and I don't know if I like you, but I'll cover your back while you fix the ship, okay?"

The boy said nothing.

"John!" Teyla had a panicked tone again. Somehow, he already knew what was coming.

"More Wraith?" he asked her, but never got a chance to hear the answer.

"Incoming!" At once, Pilot jerked up as his back arms flailed over his controls. He looked intensely at Aeryn; even in his delirium, he had to trust her to do something about this. "A ship…departed from the other vessel…it is coming straight for Moya! Arming…arming its weapons! Firing!"

The Wraith fired on Moya.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Orsus Comitas_**

AN: Yes, so this is overdue. I'm over it, and it's due. I have mad cow disease. My dog ate it. I had amnesia and was forced to learn English all over again. Just pick an excuse. You can argue that not much happens in this chapter, but honest, I'm getting somewhere. Honest.

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

**Moya, Pilot's Den (24 arns, 1728 microts after contact)**

When Aeryn came to, the first thing she realized was how still Moya was. Too still. Her heart bunched up in her throat as she pushed herself off the floor. She reached out and felt a warm hand, recognizing it as John's, and crawled over to him. "John, get up," she told his unconscious face, slapping his cheek lightly a few times. "Wake up, John. Come on."

But he was out cold and was not going to wake soon. Groaning, Aeryn turned herself over and rubbed her lower left leg, certain she'd bruised, if not sprained it. Before she blacked out, Moya had been shaking uncontrollably and Pilot howling at her to stop. They were alive, which meant Moya was alive. As for the others, she had no idea.

D'Argo!

Her son was lying on the bridge next to her, one arm curled around his DRD protectively. Aside from a small trickle of blood on his forehead, he seemed fine. Kissing him firmly on the forehead, Crichton's wife climbed to her feet and coughed, the acidic stench of smoke and a muskier, more burnt smell flooding her nose and mouth. It was then she noticed that the entire den was filled with a faint greenish-gray haze.

Movement caught her eye, and drew her attention to Pilot. Two of his arms were sluggishly moving to and fro, pressing down on various spots of his console with great effort. There was a delirious, confused presence to his actions, and the pupils in his large, yellow eyes were enormous.

Aeryn climbed onto the bulkhead in front of him and tried to turn his face towards her, but he simply pulled out of her hands and continued to look right and left. He was muttering something, unaware of her presence.

"Second...Starburst...must vent gas...weak, so weak...toxins, must vent the toxins..."

"Pilot, what is wrong with Moya?" croaked Aeryn. She was startled by how hoarse her voice was, and her throat was swollen. Her lungs burned. "What is all this smoke?"

"Sleep...all of you, to sleep...when Leviathans...so heavily damaged...releases toxins...hard to...maintain," the pilot grunted, before his arms collapsed. He was breathing in an out heavily, relying mostly on his own biological systems rather than those connected to Moya. In fact, it was possible that the lines that connected the symbiotic pair might have been damaged by the virus spread by these aliens. Aeryn realized that as long as Moya remained as she was, Pilot was going to die.

"What can we do to help?" asked a gruff voice from behind her. She whipped around and found Colonel Sheppard standing there, weapon dangling in his hand. If anything, he looked like he might pass out at any time, what with the blood on his scalp to match her son's and the unfocused look in his eyes.

Sliding down, Aeryn looked over her shoulder at Pilot before facing the Earth military man. "Those _creatures_ frightened Moya into a second Starburst, _far_ before her drive was completely repaired. Now she is dying, and she is taking us with her. What could you possibly do now to make things worse?"

Suddenly, D'Argo jolted to his feet, right between them. He moved so quickly that the DRD in his hands crashed to the floor and started skittering in circles, as the boy scrambled over to Pilot and leaped onto the bulkhead. "Pilot, I know you can't hear her. It's okay. I can help. You can vent everything by using the holes in Moya! You know, the ones the creature's made with the disease. If you can't open the ventilation ports, force it out of the holes."  
"D'Argo...?" Pilot seemed to look right through him, either unable to understand or too exhausted to comply.

"I _know_ you can do it. Come on, I'll help you," D'Argo urged him, climbing over to where one of Pilot's large arms lay, struggling to move. He grit his teeth as he pulled on the large appendage, before dropping it on top of one of the glowing console pads. "That's the first one. You know the rest. Please, Pilot; if you don't do it, we'll all die and we won't have a chance to save Moya. It's only four more!"

Aeryn stared on with wonder and Sheppard with blank confusion as the pilot's remaining arms trembled to life, sliding across the console and hitting the appropriate mechanisms in the correct order. When he was finished, his large head began to sag, and he let out one last exhalation before he ceased to move at all.

It took a world and a half for the gentle hissing in the air to stop, as the thin haze grew clear once more. Breathing no longer burned Aeryn's chest, but she was too stunned to realize that her husband had regained was shakily getting to his feet, holding his head in one hand painfully. Ignoring the groggy look her gave her, Aeryn pushed past him and climbed onto the bulkhead next to her son.

"Pilot," she said gently, putting a hand on one the the enormous claws in front of her. She shook it, inducing no response. "Pilot, wake up. Please wake up, Pilot."

No amount of desperate shaking earned her a reaction from Moya's symbiote. Finally, Aeryn leaned forward and rest her head against the leathery one of her old friend, closing her eyes.

"M-Mommy?" D'Argo's voice was small, like a child five years younger than he. The stillness of Pilot must have confused him, because of his foolish parents who had never burdened him with a complete understanding of death. Crichton, having realized what had happened, silently put and arm around his son's shoulders after the nine-year-old climbed back down from the bulkhead.

No one in Sheppard's team said a word. All four of them, excluding the Scottish doctor were occupying the bridge in stunned silence. Ronon crouched down next to Teyla, using a piece of cloth he'd ripped from his shirt to wrap up a bleeding gash on her arm. Rodney was the first to shake free of the dismal moment and moved closer to the colonel. Neither one of them made eye contact.

"Moya."

Crichton's voice cut through the air inside the den with a sharpness that tugged everyone out of their stupors. He sounded vexed, but suspicious. "Wait a second, if Pilot's...then Moya...not trying to be the insensitive one here, but shouldn't she be going a little...I don't know, nuts?"

"She's being quiet," D'Argo said simply, with no small trace of fear. "I think she's scared. Like she doesn't know what's going to happen."

Carson started to move then, stepping quickly up to the bulkhead that surrounded the alien pilot. Reaching up to the large plates that covered Pilot's head and back, he pinched his fingers underneath one, where he had injected the stimulant before. Something unusual twinged his face. "I—I cannae be positive," he started, eyes flickering over the assembled adults. "But I do think I feel a pulse. There's no telling how strong it is, since I don' know what's normal and what's not."

"It's alive?" Rodney asked, blurting it out before anyone else reacted. Sheppard elbowed him in the ribs, hard. "Ow!"

"He's in a catatonic state," the doctor explained haltingly, and when he withdrew his fingers, they were covered in a greasy, yellow goo. Trying to be polite about it, he quickly wiped the substance off and smiled reassuringly at Aeryn. No one moved or spoke as he circled around, took a very small flashlight from his front pocket, and pried open one of Pilot's eyelids. Aeryn stepped down to let him do his work, but bore the expression of someone who would take more bad news with a grain of salt...and a weapon. "I don' have much tae go on, but mae best guess—he's dying, and judging by these cataracts and the lack of random pattern decay we've seen aroun' the ship, it's not the virus that's killing him. It's old age."

"C'mon, Carson, the Wraith didn't feed on him that long," Sheppard said dismissively. He appreciated that Dr. Beckett was trying to boost their reputation here, but he was worried that acting like they knew more about their non-human friends than they did was only going to make Crichton and Aeryn Sun angrier.

But Carson was adamant. "That's jes' it, colonel. I don't think the Wraith stopped feedin' on him because you startled him; he stopped because the feeding process was expedited. Remember, I was talkin' about his cellular integrity being somewhat of a miracle. I'd assume his kind has quite the lifespan?" The question was tossed in Aeryn's direction, who had shown the most concern for the pilot's welfare so far. She nodded silently and warily. "Then tae put it in the simplest terms, the Wraith probably thought they were faced with an entity that could sustain them over an extremely long period of time. But the way his blood cells were reactin' under my scope, his immune system sped up the feeding process a hundred times faster than a Wraith is used tae."

With so much new information, Sheppard's head was starting to spin. "So Todd," he said slowly, naming the Wraith on the spot. "Fed on _him,_ and got a bigger dose than he was expecting."

"A much, much bigger dose," Carson agreed seriously, looking at him. "We've dealt with Wraith who just fed on their victims and they are bloody hard tae kill. This 'Todd' we're after will probably be next tae invincible, if we're lucky."

"This all sounds like wonderful news, but how the _frell_ do we bring him back?" Aeryn snapped suddenly, not referring to the Wraith, but Pilot.

"You figure out how to fix your alien," Ronon said, standing up. He grabbed his blaster and powered it up with a slap of a hand and a fierce glare. "I'm going to see how invincible our Wraith buddy really is."

"What Ronon means is," Sheppard interrupted loudly, stopped the Satedan in his tracks before he could run off. "We'd be more than happy to search for...Todd, _capture _him, and bring him back here so he can return what he stole. Preferably before _more_ Wraith find us."

Crichton, for the first time, met that suggestion with optimistic skepticism. Taken aback, he examined Sheppard's face for some telltale sign of deception. "These Wraith guys can do that? No one thought to mention this, say...back when we were all bonding after Pilot was fed on in the first place?"

"It's a new concept for me, too," the colonel said defensively, pitching his voice in annoyance.

"Colonel," Carson said quietly. Everyone returned their attention to him. "Whatever you're planning on doing, I suggest that you do it fast. I doubt this poor creature can hold on much longer and if he's as important as our new friends let on, saving his life means we all get tae live."

"Damn straight, we do." Crichton exchanged looks with his wife.

"Teyla, go with Ronon and try to track down the Wraith, but do _not_ engage," Sheppard told his two team members. "Rodney, you're with the kid. You can figure out how to fix this Starburst thing, since I've got this feeling we'll need it once the pilot's back on his feet—figuratively speaking."

"Why am I always the one with the kids?" McKay asked no one in particular, evidently aware that his complaining only worked on himself. There was no need to point out that he wouldn't be able to help much, being an astrophysicist and not an alien doctor.

"Dr. Beckett stays here to keep an eye on Pilot's condition." This time, it was Crichton giving the orders. And it was an order, not a request. Sheppard paused, then nodded his head once in compliance, not wanting to counter what was possibly the first thing they agreed on without using weapons as collateral.

Aeryn straightened her shoulders and bent down to pick up one of the pulse rifles on the floor. "Alright, then I'm going with the team that hunts down the blood-sucking alien. If things happen to get messy, I want to be the last thing it sees before it becomes a stain on a tier wall."

"Anyone want to argue with the lady?" said Crichton.

Silence.

"Then let's tango." The commander kissed his wife's cheek, ruffled D'Argo's hair and with a final, somewhat darkened glance at Pilot, turned to Sheppard while cradling his rifle. "I'd like to take a good look on the cool-looking spaceship you rode into town, if it's okay with you."


End file.
